


V « 


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I WON T SAY WHAT I HAD IN MY MIND 


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SEP 1 1904 

0 OoDVrtgrht Entry 

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CLASS a- XXo. No. 

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COPY B 

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Copyright, 1904, by Harper & Brothers. 


rights reserved. 

Published September, 1904. 


TO 


J. R. H 





I 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PiGE 

I. The Lady with the Spangles 1 

II. The Arrival 15 

III. The Shadow 28 

IV. The First Day 42 

V. Roger’s Secret 57 

VI. The Trail of the Serpent 73 

VII. Lilian 90 

VIII. Innovations 103 

IX. The Diversions of Chippy 117 

X. The Letter 135 

XI. Chippy Tells 152 

XII. An Interrupted Talk 168 

XIII. Lilian’s Father 186 

XIV. The Theatricals — and Hannibal . . . . 199 

XV. Georgiana Crochets 214 

XVI. The Meeting in Boston ' 227 

XVII. Plots and Plans 244 

XVIII. A Bold Move 257 




ILLUSTRATIONS 

y 

I won’t say what I HAD IN MY MIND . . Frontispiece 

YOU HAVE THIS YOUNG LADY’s SEAT,’ HE SAID yr 

TO THE woman” Facing p. 6^ 

WHEN YOU FIRST CAME WE FELLOWS WERE 

MAD ABOUT IT ’ ” “ 154 

WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO-PAY, JO?”’ . “ 270 y 




♦ 



t 


.'■A 


. . / 


JOSEPHINE 


THE LADY WITH THE SPANGLES 





|HEY had been travelling for days, and 
to Josephine it seemed as though the 
journey would last while time lasted. 
Surely there could be no other exist- 
ence than that which had been hers 
since they left Seattle. Was it weeks, 
months, or years ago? True, the song of the wheels by 
day and by night was always the same, “Going to 
Boston! Going to Boston!” It was no less true that 
at intervals along the route one's watch was set for- 
ward, and one seemed then to be hurrying to over- 
take time in its flight as the train sped towards the 
East, the land of the rising sun. The Pacific had long 
since been left behind, the Rockies had been climbed 
and crossed, long stretches of prairie had been tra- 
versed, villages, towns, and cities had been entered 
and departed from. There had been changes of trains 
and of travelling companions; there had been monot- 



JOSEPHINE 


ony and diversion. Seattle was now very far away^ 
but Boston seemed no nearer. 

“Jo, do you think we’ll ever get there?” asked 
Georgiana. Since they started she had asked the 
question at intervals and with the regularity of a 
striking clock, and as usual Jo answered: “Thursday, 
the 7th, we are due, you know.” 

Josephine and Georgiana Hale were the two young- 
est of a family of six sisters whose mother had died 
years ago. Jo was almost sixteen and Georgie was 
nine. Their father had married for the second time, 
and the present Mrs. Hale was a Californian by birth 
and bringing-up and a woman who had none of the 
alertness and business ability which are supposed to 
pertain to the West. Mr. Hale had been considered 
a successful business man, but he died leaving very 
little money for the support of his eight children — for 
two more daughters had been added to the list. Mrs. 
Hale was kind to her step-daughters, and in a way 
they were fond of her, but it would have been unrea- 
sonable to expect her to support and take care of them 
all. She, who had ever been a clinging vine, could 
not now become a prop. 

Two of the other girls were married, and it was 
decided that the next two should live with them. 
Mrs. Hale’s brother offered to take her and the younger 
children into his home, and proposed that her husband’s 
brother in the East should be asked to educate Jose- 
phine. It was a perfectly reasonable suggestion, but 
Mrs. Hale, with her usual indolence, put off from day to 
2 


JOSEPHINE 


day the writing of the desired letter to Dr. William 
Hale. Plans were discussed; it was decided that Jose- 
phine should go to Massachusetts; Georgiana had re- 
fused to be separated from her, and was added to the 
party; a travelhng companion was found and every- 
thing was arranged, but it was not until two days 
before their departure that it was suddenly discovered 
by Josephine that Mrs. Hale had not written to her 
uncle. It was irritating and almost incredible, but it 
was characteristic of Mrs. Hale. 

It was suggested that they should telegraph, but it 
was a matter that could not be explained in a few 
words, and Mrs. Hale was averse to anything so curt and 
business-like as a telegram ; so a letter was written and 
despatched, and careful calculation showed that it 
should reach Dr. Hale at least two days before the 
travellers. 

‘‘He offered to help us,^^ said Mrs. Hale, “and what 
else could he mean than to take any number of his 
brother’s children into his home? And I am only 
sending two!” 

But Josephine thought that he might have meant 
much less, and as she approached Massachusetts, her 
father’s native State, her doubts and apprehension 
increased to such a degree that she would gladly have 
left the East-bound train and hurried back by the first 
that would take her to Seattle. The friends with 
whom the girls had started had left them at Chicago. 
They were now travelling alone, except for the care of 
the conductor, who had been asked to look after them, 
2 3 


JOSEPHINE 


and to put them into the charge of the next man 
when he should leave the train. There were no 
further changes to be made, and the next day they 
were due in Boston. 

I wish we could have an adventure,^’ saidGeorgiana. 

“What kind of a one?” asked Josephine, idly. 

“Oh, an accident or a fire or something! I thought 
travelhng people always did, and there’s been nothing 
exciting since we left Seattle. Only the same old 
thing.” Georgiana stretched out her thin, black- 
stockinged legs and sighed heavily. “ Wish that baby 
was ours,” she continued. The wails of a very young 
child were too plainly audible from the other end of 
the car. It had been crying steadily for fifteen 
minutes in spite of the frantic efforts of its parents to 
shake and dandle it into silence. 

“Georgie, I’m glad it isn’t! I never heard such 
a cry-baby.” 

“I could stop it. I’d just put on my spectacles and 
grin and shake my head. Babies like me to do that.” 

“Why don’t you go and do it then? Everybody 
in the car would be grateful to you.” 

Georgiana rose with alacrity. “You’ll see,’! said 
she. “It will stop in no time.” 

She walked down the swaying car — the train was 
now swinging along with a thunderous rush — and 
very soon the baby’s wails were hushed. She stayed 
to play with it in response to the invitation of the 
gratified mother, and presently her place next to 
Josephine was occupied by a stout lady of imposing 
4 


JOSEPHINE 


presence and very elegant attire. Her beaded and 
braided cape hung about her in voluminous folds and 
nearly extinguished Josephine when she seated her- 
self beside her. 

“I have been watching you,” she said, ^^and won- 
dering whether you two was all alone. I haven’t seen 
anybody looking after you.” 

“We are alone,” said Josephine. “Our friends 
from Seattle left us at Chicago.” 

“Seattle! Have you come all the way from there? 
And where are you going?”. 

“Stockton, Massachusetts.” 

“Indeed! Got friends there?” 

“Why, yes,” rephed Jo, rather wondering at the 
woman’s curiosity. “Of course, or we shouldn’t be 
going there, you know.” 

“You look mighty young to be travelling alone, 
and that’s why I came over to give you a bit of advice. 
I only got on at Chicago and I’m leaving at Elkhart, 
but it just seems as if Providence had sent me on to 
this train to help you. I’d meant to take another 
and missed it. It’s real queer sometimes how those 
things happen. I noticed you was looking at your 
money a little while ago and that you carry it in that 
httle bag at your side. It ain’t safe, my dear — it 
really ain’t safe. Why, anybody could take that 
bag right off you and you never be the wiser! Got 
all your tickets and everything there too, I suppose. 
Dear! dear! Yes, just as I thought. A good thing 
you didn’t lose it in Chicago. It’s an awful wicked 
5 


JOSEPHINE 


place, Chicago is, though I do say it that lives there. 
I dare say Boston is about as bad. I’ve never been 
there. I don’t know as I could stand the beans and 
the brown bread. They say folks lives on ’em al- 
together.” 

The conductor, a young man with an honest and 
pleasant face, passed down the aisle. He glanced at 
the large lady , and then looked again. Presently he 
came back with Georgiana. 

^^You have this young lady’s seat,” he said to the 
woman. 

Bless me, so I have!” she exclaimed, rising at 
once. ‘‘How soon do we get to EUdiart?” 

“In five minutes.” 

“Perhaps you’ll help me get my things together,’^ 
she said, turning to Josephine. “I get off there and 
I’ve a lot of traps. I’m taking presents to my nieces; 
they’re girls just about your age.” 

She allowed her cape to slip from her portly shoulders, 
and it was necessary for Josephine to pick it up and 
put it on her; she dropped her bags and her bundles, 
and she had such a number of things to do that both 
Josephine and Georgiana were kept busy helping her, 
but Elkhart was soon reached and she bade them 
good-bye. 

“ I’m real sorry to leave you,” she said. “You’re so 
young and innocent sort of. I’m glad we met. Don’t 
you forget me, will you?” 

It was not at all likely that she would be forgotten, 
as after events proved. 


6 



“‘YOU HAVE THIS YOUN(J LADY’s SEAT,’ HE SAID TO 

THE WOMAN ” 




JOSEPHINE 


^^Did you like that person, Jo?’^ asked Georgiana, 
when they settled down again into their places. 
Georgiana was a thin child with dark eyes which saw 
all that there was to be seen, and brown hair cut 
straight and with the front tied up with a bow on the 
side of her head. Her nose turned up sufficiently to 
give point to her incessant questions. If a constant 
demand for information leads to ultimate wisdom, 
it would not be Georgie’s fault if she did not ac- 
quire it. 

“No, not particularly,’^, replied Josephine, “but 
she was kind.” 

“I don’t think she was as kind as we were. We 
helped her with her things. All the spangles kept 
coming off her cape. See! They are all over the 
seat!” She picked them up as she spoke. “How was 
she kind, Jo?’’ 

“She advised me about carrying my money more 
carefully. She was quite right. She said anybody 
could snatch this bag at my side. I must find some 
other place for my purse.” 

She opened the little chatelaine bag. 

“Georgie!’’ 

“What?” 

“My purse is gone!” 

“I suppose you’ve dropped it. Let’s look.” 

A hasty search among all their luggage ensued — on 
the seat, on the floor, everywhere, but there was no 
sign of the missing purse. There were very few 
passengers in the car and they were all at the other 
7 


JOSEPHINE 


end. The conductor passing through asked the girls 
what they had lost. 

purse/^ said Josephine. “It is the strangest 
thing. That lady who was sitting with me told me 
I ought to be more careful of it, and now it is gone. 
Of course it is somewhere here among our things, for 
I haven’t left the seat except when I helped the 
lady with her parcels, and I am sure it was in my bag 
when we talked about it. Just as sure as I can be of 
anything.” 

“Would you mind letting me look into your bag?” 
asked the conductor. Josephine gave it to him. In 
it were the checks for their trunks, a time-table, and 
one or two httle papers. The conductor removed 
these. Then he put in his hand again and brought 
out four small jet spangles. 

“The lady’s spangles!” cried Georgiana. 

Josephine gasped, “Why, how — ” then she stopped. 
The color rose in her face and faded away, leaving her 
very pale. She looked at the conductor, whose kind 
and friendly face expressed his sympathy and regret, 
but in whose eyes there was a faint gleam of amuse- 
ment. Then she sank back in her seat. 

“What are we to do?” she said. 

“Was all your money in it?’’ 

“Every cent.” 

“I have some, Jo!” exclaimed Georgie. “In my 
pocket-book, you know!” 

She produced her purse and proudly counted its 
contents. They amounted to thirty-four cents. 

8 


JOSEPHINE 


*^What are we to do?’^ said Josephine again. ^^Our 
tickets were in it, too.” 

The conductor sat down opposite to them. ^‘We 
will talk it over,” said he. you will allow me, I 
will sit here a few minutes. Our next stop is Toledo, 
and I can’t telegraph back to Elkhart until then. I 
am afraid the woman will have gone beyond reach. 
You go to Boston, don’t you?” 

“Yes, to Stockton.” 

“To Stockton!” The young man started, and an 
indescribable change passed over his face. It lasted 
but an instant, and Josephine, absorbed in her loss, 
scarcely noticed it. “You are going to Stockton?” 

“Yes,” said the girl, now wondering a little at his 
undeniable surprise. “My uncle lives there.” 

“Your uncle! Your name is Hale, I think. Of 
course! Dr. Hale.” 

“Have you ever been there? Do you know my 
uncle?” 

“I was there years ago. I remember the name. 
But we must plan how to help you, for I leave the train 
at Toledo. My run ends there. When I go back I 
will try to find your purse by some means in Elkhart 
or Chicago. No doubt the woman lives in Chicago.” 

“Yes, she said she did, and that it was a very wicked 
city, though she did say it who lived there.” 

They both laughed in spite of the misfortune. 

“I didn’t like her a bit,” said Georgiana. “And I 
hated her spangled cape.” 

“Her spangles may lead to her arrest,” said the 
9 


JOSEPHINE 


conductor, looking at the four which he held in his 
hand, ‘‘but in the mean time, we must see what can 
be done for you. I will arrange with the next con- 
ductor about your tickets, and, if you will allow me, 
I shall be very glad to lend you what money you may 
need.’’ 

“Oh, I couldn’t take it, possibly!” Josephine drew 
back. How could she borrow of a conductor? How 
stupid she had been not to divide her money. If some 
had been in one place, some in another, it would not 
now be gone, and it amounted to thirty dollars! A 
heavy loss for two girls who were poor. 

The young man, who had the spirit as well as the 
manner of a gentleman, understood her disinclination 
to accept his aid. 

“I am sorry,” he said. “But I see no other way. 
You could scarcely ask these people in the car to help 
you. Your friends who left you at Chicago asked me 
to look out for you. I feel doubly responsible, as the 
thief w^as on my train. It will not do for you to travel 
to Boston and arrive there without money. Your 
uncle may be prevented from meeting you. No one 
knows what might happen. I think. Miss Hale, you 
will have to accept it, for you need it, too, for your 
meals along the way. You can easily return it to 
me, you know.” 

“Of course,” said Josephine; “I didn’t think. I am 
so shocked and troubled and mortified at having lost 
my purse that I can’t think of anything else. You 
are very kind.” 


10 


JOSEPHINE 


It was finally arranged that he should lend her ten 
dollars. He did not tell her that he must be responsible 
to the company for their tickets if they were not 
found. He went off, and after a little while he came 
back with the money. 

“And please tell me your name,” said Josephine. 
“My uncle will send this back to you right away.”. 

He hesitated a moment. “My name is Jackson,”, 
he said, after a perceptible pause. 

“And your first name?” 

“R. Jackson.” And he gave her an address in 
Chicago. 

Josephine wrote it down. “I am sorry you are 
going to leave the train,” she said; “you seem like a 
friend. We have come so far and are going to such a 
strange place.” 

“You will like Stockton,” said Jackson, eagerly. 
“There are charming people there — at least, I have 
always heard of Dr. Hale. You will find a — ” He 
broke off abruptly. 

“I wish you would tell me about it,” said Josephine. 
“I dread it so.” She liked this young man who had 
proved himself such a friend. His brown eyes, which 
had at times a touch of sadness in them, were very 
honest. She felt that he could be trusted. And sup- 
pose there were more adventures, more ladies with 
spangled cloaks ! “Won’t you tell me about Stockton? 
Then it won’t seem such a strange place.” 

But he rose. “I must go,” he said. “I will see 
you before I leave the train.” 

11 


JOSEPHINE 


He did not return until they reached Toledo, where 
there was a stop of several minutes. He brought 
with him the new conductor in whose charge he placed 
the two girls. Then with a hasty good-bye he left 
them, giving them no time for further thanks. 

^‘Wasn’t he kind to us, Jo?’’ said Georgiana. “Do 
you suppose we shall ever see him again?”. 

“No, I shouldn’t think so.” 

“I hope we shall. He’s the nicest man I ever knew. 
I sha’n’t ever forget him. I hope Uncle Will and the 
boys will be as nice. Do you think they will be, Jo?”. 

There was no answer. 

“Jo, do you think they will be?” 

“I don’t know, I’m sure. Oh, Georgie! To think 
I have lost all that money! Uncle Will and the boys 
will think me so careless and stupid.” 

“ I’ll tell them you’re not. I’ll tell them the spangled 
lady was a — a — posster.” 

posster! What do you mean? A poster, child, 
is an advertisement of a book or something like that. 
That big, fat woman in her cloak didn’t look much like 
a poster.” 

“Oh, Jo, you are stupid! She is a posster. She 
pretended to be a kind, nice person and she was a thief. 
Her cloak covered — what’s that Bible word that means 
a crowd ? They were always sitting down in it, in the 
Bible, and thronging about. Lots of people.” 

“Do you mean multitudes?” 

“Yes. Her cloak covered a multitude of sins, and 
so she is a posster.” 


12 


JOSEPHINE 


you mean impostor?’^ 

^‘Yes. You were very stupid, Jo, not to guess it 
before.” 

The journey continued without further adventure. 
The last night in the narrow berths was passed, the 
last morning dawned wJiich was to be spent upon the 
train. Was it possible that to-morrow they should 
awaken in a bed, in a room that was stationary^ 
that was not tearing along past trees and telegraph- 
poles, rivers and hills? Slowly the day wore away, 
and now Josephine could scarcely restrain her im- 
patience nor conceal her dread. Would Uncle Will 
be glad to see them? It required all her courage — 
and she was not lacking in courage — to keep up a 
brave front. Would the boys be nice? And, above 
all, would there be some one waiting to meet them 
in Boston? 

And now the New England landscape lay about 
them, the beautiful, rolhng country of western 
Massachusetts. The trim and tidy towns and villages 
grew more frequent. The train swept through town 
after town, bell clanging, whistle shrieking, but with 
seldom a pause for breath. Then the spires and 
steeples of a city loomed into view. There was a 
glimpse of a gilded dome, the buildings were now 
close together; one could see at the last but the dingy 
backs of houses. Surely this must be — yes, it was — 
Boston ! 

The two girls left the train and followed the hurrying 
crowd. At the gate a group of men and women waited 
13 


JOSEPHINE 


with expectant faces. One by one these faces broke 
into glad smiles of welcome. One by one the people 
welcomed their arriving friends and moved away. 

There was no one who seemed to be looking for two 
girls from Seattle. No. They had not been met! 
With a lump in her throat and troublesome tears that 
would come into her eyes in spite of all her efforts to 
suppress them, Josephine went into the waiting-room 
of the station to make inquiries. She found to her 
relief that the trains for Stockton left from that same 
station. She bought their tickets with Conductor 
Jackson’s money, and they soon took their seats in 
another train. There was no trouble about it, but it 
seemed unutterably lonely. 


II 


THE ARRIVAL 





'OCKTON was an old Massachusetts 
town not many miles from Boston. 
It could scarcely be called a suburb, 
for although it was near the city it 
was in no wise part of it, the place 
possessing a certain individuality, and 
living to a large degree its own life. 

One of the best-loved men in Stockton was Dr. 
William Hale. He came there and settled, fresh from 
the medical school and the hospital, when he was 
young and unknown. Twenty years later his practice 
was almost larger than he could manage. His wife 
had died, leaving four sons, William, Bromfield, Roger, 
and Charles, who was generally called Chippy. The 
name was given him by his brothers, who maintained 
that he always ‘^carried a chip on his shoulder,’’ being 
ever ready for an argument or a fight. 

Billy was almost eighteen, and was to enter Harvard 
the next year; Brom was sixteen, Roger was fourteen, 
and Chippy was ten, and they lived in a large, white 
house on High Street. Mrs. Emlen, who was Mrs. 
Hale’s sister, and was, therefore, the boy’s aunt, took a 
15 


JOSEPHINE 


motherly interest in them, but the house and family 
were really in the charge of Mrs. Sparks, the doctor’s 
housekeeper, who had filled that position for years. 
The doctor had a large practice, but, like many country 
doctors, he was by no means a rich man. The house 
was spacious and comfortable, but the parlor and 
library had the stiff, unlived-in look that rooms have 
when there is no woman in the family, while in the 
study the boys rioted in reckless disregard of order 
and neatness. When Mrs. Hale died, their friends had 
wondered how the little family would be cared for; 
but Mrs. Sparks had been found to fill the post of house- 
keeper, and had succeeded better in that capacity than 
had been expected of her, and the household had 
managed to jog along and had soon fallen into set, 
mascuhne ways. It occurred to no one that there is 
always a possibility of something different. Changes 
are usually unexpected. They are apt to pounce upon 
their victims as a cat upon a mouse. 

It was one morning in November that the postman 
unconsciously enacted the part of fate, as postmen 
all over the world are constantly doing. He left at the 
house a letter addressed in a fine, slanting, feminine 
handwriting to Dr. William Hale. It was brought in 
with a dozen others, and the doctor sat down at his 
desk to look them over before starting out upon his 
day’s work. He read them all before opening the one 
with the Seattle postmark. It had a broad, black 
border, and was, as he knew, from his sister-in-law. 
He was very sorry for her and wished most sincerely 
16 


JOSEPHINE 


that he could do something to help them. It was 
astonishing that Joseph had died so poor. Perhaps 
a check — he ran his eye over the letter. He gasped 
and thrust his hand through his thick hair. He was 
only fifty, but his hair was silvery white. This gesture 
made it stand on end, and gave him a more aggressive 
aspect than his nature warranted. Then for the 
second time he read his sister-in-law’s letter with its 
many underlinings: 

“Your kind offer, my dear brother, touches me to the quick. 
Joseph, my beloved husband, always said that when it came 
to the point Will could be depended upon. We have now come 
to that point and events prove that my Joseph was right. Alas! 
Ah, me! when was my dear one not right? But I must not 
allow my too willing pen to wander into praise of my dear 
departed. Sorely against my heart’s wishes I must hold it in 
check and suffer myself only to tell you that in response to 
your kind offer I send you our Georgie and our Jo. Guard 
them tenderly for me, oh, my brother! In lending them to 
you I am sparing you two of the most precious jewels in my 
crown! 

“You will readily understand that were it in my power I 
would keep my Joseph’s dear children, but we are very poor 
(alas!). My own brother will care for me and my own two 
darlings. My Joseph’s elder children will live with their married 
sisters. There remain but Jo and Georgie, and to you I give 
them! Time flies, or I could write reams upon the subject. 

“Your attached and sorrowing sister, 

“Emmeline Hale. 

“P.S. — They will be with you on Thursday the 7th, at 
twilight. As day glides into night at that hour, so may their 
young lives glide into yours and bring it blessing! My love to 
your boys. — E. H.” 

^‘I’ve come to some pretty tough knots in the course 
of my career,’’ said Dr. Hale to himself, “but never 

17 


JOSEPHINE 


quite such a tough one as this. I merely asked what 
I could do for the family, and she immediately sends 
me two boys. I didn^t know there were any boys — 
thought all the eight were girls. How could it have 
slipped my mind? Well, eight children are no joke- 
no joke at all. It is no wonder Joseph died a poor 
man. People with eight children usually do. If it 
had been possible I should have gone out there and 
looked into his affairs, but Seattle from Boston and back 
again, with half a dozen dangerous cases on my list, 
is out of the question for a busy country doctor — and 
though Joseph was my brother I hadn’t seen him for 
thirty years.” 

He walked about the room for a few minutes. Then 
he smoothed out the letter which he had crumpled in 
his hand and read it again. 

“Dear me! I wish Emmeline were not so — well, so 
poetic. ^Precious jewels’ and all that. Reads poetry 
all day long, no doubt. I only hope the boys don’t 
take after her; but of course they don’t. They are 
not her children. Perhaps something can be made of 
them, but what a prospect! Two more boys thrust 
upon me and I a busy doctor! It’s a stupendous affair 
altogether. I suppose she wants them educated in 
the East with my boys. Have them go to Harvard and 
all that. Quite right. I’m glad she has so much 
sense. She’s not without wisdom of a certain kind 
either. She didn’t stop to ask my permission— merely 
sent them on! I’m thankful she’s not sending girls. 
Girls would be out of the question. When does she 
18 


JOSEPHINE 


say they are coming? Thursday the 7th, at twilight. 
Why, hang it, that’s to-day!” 

He glanced from the window. It was only a little 
after nine in the morning, and the November sun was 
not yet more than two hours advanced upon its 
journey. 

^^Some time yet before twilight, when their lives are 
going to glide into ours! There won’t be much glide 
about it — more like a head-on collision. Sparks will 
fly! Good gracious! I’d forgotten her! I’m afraid 
Sparks will fly!” He did not laugh at his joke. He 
said it solemnly, and dropping into a chair he hid his 
face and thought. “What will she say?” 

There was but one person in the world of whom Dr. 
Hale felt any fear, and that was his housekeeper with 
the fiery name and the no less fiery temper. Presently 
he opened his office door and peered out into the hall. 

“Mrs. Sparks,” he said, slightly raising his voice, 
“I have something of importance to tell you. If you 
would kindly make it convenient to come a little 
nearer I should be very much obliged.” 

He was a very large man. He measured over six 
feet in height, and his breadth was in proportion, but 
he stood in abject awe of a little woman of five feet two. 
The ability to rule is never a matter of inches. Mrs. 
Sparks was small and spare, with very smooth dark 
hair, and large, gleaming spectacles. She now appeared 
from somewhere in the back regions of the house in 
quick response to the doctor’s summons. 

“I am very sorry to take you by surprise, Mrs. 

3 19 


JOSEPHINE 


Sparks/' said he, deprecatingly, “but really there is no 
help for it. I — I — don't know what you will say — er — 
two nephews of mine are coming to live — er — to make 
us a visit. If you would be so kind as to get a room 
ready for them by twilight. My brother's sons, you 
know. I have just heard that they will be here to- 
day." Then he retreated into his office and closed 
the door — not with the force that he would have been 
glad to use, but very quietly — and waited. 

He was not obliged to wait long. There was an 
immediate tap upon the door, a smart, brisk tap that 
meant something. The big doctor trembled, then 
meekly opened it. “Oh, Mrs. Sparks!" he exclaimed, 
quite as though he were surprised to find her there. 

“Yes, doctor," said the small, spare woman. “I 
just want to ask you if you think it's kind, if you 
think it's considerate, to bring two more rompin' boys 
into this house, where I've served you and waited on 
you to the best of my ability goin' on now these ten 
years? As if there wasn't enough already! And 
whether — " 

“No, Mrs. Sparks, it isn't kind or considerate, but I 
can't help myself. My brother Joseph is dead, you 
know, and this letter from his wife — the jewels in her 
crown — er — that is — the two boys will be here at 
twilight, whenever that is. You're not more surprised 
than I am. But it is time I was off" (looking at his 
watch). “This is a very full day and I am late now. 
I beg your pardon, my good Mrs. Sparks, I do indeed. 
I shall be at the hospital from eleven to one if there 
20 


JOSEPHINE 


are any important calls.” And seizing his hat the 
doctor beat a hasty retreat before the reproachful eyes 
which darted alarming glances at him through the 
gold-rimmed spectacles. 

He did not return until nearly two. Then came a 
hasty luncheon and his busy office hour. It was four 
o’clock when he was at liberty. In the brief intervals 
between cases he had remembered his nephews. He 
told Chippy that his cousins were coming, and the boy 
received the news with the calmness that charac- 
terized him. In spite of his love of an argument it 
was always difficult to startle Chippy into what he 
considered unnecessary conversation. The other boys 
were at school in town and would not get home until 
later. Dr. Hale wondered if it were his duty to meet 
his nephews upon their arrival in Boston. Then he 
remembered that it would be impossible to do this, for 
he had not been told by which train they were coming, 
nor even by which road. As they were boys they could 
be trusted to take care of themselves. It would have 
been a very different matter if they had been girls, 
but even in that case how should he have known when 
to meet them? No, clearly he could not do it, but 
his uneasy conscience, conscious of his lack of hospi- 
tality, was troubling him. When the last patient 
had gone he rang for Mrs. Sparks and meekly asked her 
which room she had prepared for the nephews. 

Third story back,” said she. 

“ It isn’t a very nice one. It is a cold one in winter,” 
said the doctor, doubtfully. 

2X 


JOSEPHINE 


“It’s quite good enough for boys. Cornin’ from the 
West they’ll be able to stand cold. I ain’t agoin’ to 
have ’em thumpin’ round over your head nights and 
keepin’ you awake. It’s an outrageous proceedin’ 
sendin’ ’em here, and I — ” 

“Mrs. Sparks, you will be good enough to remember 
that they are my nephews,” said Dr. Hale, “and 
must be treated as such. I am going out now, but I 
shall be at home by five and ready to receive them.” 

He was gone before the little housekeeper had 
recovered from her astonishment. It was the first 
time within her memory that he had ever spoken 
harshly to her. She retired to her room and indulged 
in a good cry, and the corner-stone was then and there 
laid of a grudge against the nephews — if grudges can 
be said to have corner-stones. When twilight fell she 
was still weeping at intervals, and was therefore not in 
a position to watch the arrival of the enemy. It 
was shortly after five o’clock when a carriage stopped 
before the gate. There was the sharp slam of a hack 
door, and two figures walked quickly up the path, 
laden with bags, umbrellas, and travelling-rugs. There 
was a resounding peal of the door-bell, and the waitress 
opened the door. 

“Dr. Hale lives here, doesn’t he? I see his sign,” 
said a high-pitched but sweet voice. “Then we will 
go right in. Come, Georgie.” 

Tapping boldly on the door and opening it without 
waiting for a summons, Josephine Hale walked into 
her uncle’s office closely followed by Georgiana. 

22 


JOSEPHINE 


‘^Well, Uncle Will/^ she said, in a voice that sug- 
gested Western breezes, ‘^here we are! Did you get 
mamma’s letter? And are you ready for us? We’re 
very glad to get here.” 

Dr. Hale had been writing a medical article and had 
not heard the carriage stop. When the door-bell rang 
he had supposed vaguely that it was a patient. Then 
memory reasserted itself and he thought of the nephews. 
Now, as he swung around in his chair to greet the new- 
comers, he felt two arms about his neck and a hearty 
kiss upon his cheek bestowed by one young girl, while 
another stood close at her elbow, ready apparently to 
repeat the performance. 

“Who are you?” gasped the doctor, his face showing 
his unmitigated astonishment. 

“I am Jo and this is Georgie. Didn’t you get 
mamma’s letter? We are your nieces.” 

“But — but — ^there is some mistake! She said boys 
— I am sure she said boys,” faltered he. 

“Oh, never! She couldn’t possibly, you know, be- 
cause we never were boys. On the contrary, we are 
eight girls.” 

“Eight !” He glanced distractedly towards the 
door. Were the six others outside? 

“Oh, you needn’t be frightened. Uncle Will!” 
laughed Josephine. “ Only two of us have come. I 
suppose our names misled you, and mamma is some- 
times a little indefinite. You see, they got so tired 
of naming our sisters that when I came, and then 
Georgie, they gave us names that would pass for boys, 
23 


JOSEPHINE 

just for the sake of variety don’t you know. And 
we don’t mind.” 

Dr. Hale still stared at them. He had looked for 
boys, and, behold, they were girls. His sister-in-law 
had said “boys” in her letter, he could almost swear to 
it, and, worst of all, he had said “boys” to Mrs. Sparks. 
Her mind was prepared and the room made ready for 
boys, and she disliked a readjustment of ideas. Then 
the humor of the situation occurred to him. The 
puzzled look left his kind eyes, and he began to laugh 
with reassuring heartiness. 

“Oh, I am so glad you laughed. Uncle Will!” said 
Josephine, half laughing and half in tears herself. 
“If you hadn’t I — I — should have thought you 
weren’t glad to see us. You know we can’t help 
being girls. We’ve been sorry all our lives, for boys 
are so needed in our family, but we couldn’t help it.” 

“You dear children,” said their uncle, kissing them 
both again. “I’m very glad you’re not! We’ll have 
a jolly good time together. I hope I didn’t seem un- 
cordial. It was only the thought of — of — ” 

“Of what?” 

“Why, Mrs. Sparks, you know.” 

“Who is Mrs. Sparks?” demanded Josephine. 

“My housekeeper. An estimable woman, my dear, 
but somewhat averse to changes. She is expecting 
you to be boys, and, as she doesn’t like her plans to 
be upset — ” 

“Oh, we’ll soon settle her,” interposed Josephine, 
sweetly. “Where is she?” 

24 


JOSEPHINE 


At that moment there was a sniffle at the threshold, 
and Mrs. Sparks, with red eyes and a handkerchief in 
her hand, appeared. 

“I beg your pardon, doctor,” said she; heard you 
talking, and I thought perhaps the young gentlemen 
had come. I didn’t know there was young ladies call- 
ing on you.” 

She glared at the strangers with unqualified and 
teary disapproval. 

‘‘The young gentlemen have come, Mrs. Sparks. 
They are here, only they are young ladies. I am sorry 
about it — I mean that you should have this surprise. 
For my own part, I am rather glad they’re girls.” He 
scarcely knew what he was saying. Mrs. Sparks must 
be appeased, but the girls must also be set at ease. It 
was a most perplexing situation. 

Mrs. Sparks’s gleaming spectacles were turned first 
towards one and then towards the other of the new- 
comers. Her grim glance rested on a girl who seemed 
to be about fifteen or sixteen years old, and who 
was undoubtedly alert, brisk, and self-possessed. She 
had a certain air of independence which did not please 
Mrs. Sparks. The housekeeper said to herself that 
she did not fancy “one as held her head so high.” 
Little Georgiana’s face wore a thoughtful look, 
and at this moment it unconsciously showed the 
dismay she felt. It was all so strange, so unlike 
home. 

“Well,” said Mrs. Sparks, after a prolonged stare. 
“If they’ve got to be here at all I’m willin’ they 
25 


JOSEPHINE 


should be girls. IPs a heap sight better than two 
more rompin’ boys would have been.” 

“Oh,” exclaimed the doctor, “how good of you! 
Now, will you kindly show them their room? Come 
down again when you are ready, girls, and we’ll have 
dinner. Six is the hour when I am at home, but I’m 
very irregular — doctors always are, you know.” He 
turned to his desk with a sigh of relief. He only hoped 
they would not prove to be poetic. Anything short 
of that could be endured. Then he remembered his 
own boys. Where were they and why were they not 
there to receive their cousins? He should have told 
them to come down. It must seem most inhospitable 
to the girls after their long journey. Except for their 
aunt, Mrs. Emlen, there was no one to teach the boys 
the little courtesies of life that are so important. He 
sighed as he hurriedly left his office and went up-stairs 
to the room in the ell, which was used as a study. 
They were all there, poring over their lessons for the 
next day. 

“Boys,” said their father, “come down! Quick! 
They have come, and they are not boys at all; they 
are girls.” 

“What on earth do you mean, father?” asked Billy. 
“Who are girls? What are you talking about?” 

“Hasn’t Chippy told you? Why didn’t you, 
Chippy?” 

“Thought they might as well be surprised,” said 
Chippy, quietly. 

“Well, two of your cousins have come from Seattle. 

26 


JOSEPHINE 


They’re going to make us a visit. Do be as cordial 
as you can.” 

Billy and Brom jumped to their feet. ^'Gee whiz! 
Two girls come to stay here, father?” Then they 
all followed him down-stairs and were introduced to 
their cousins. 

^‘We didn’t know you had arrived,” said Billy, 
politely. 

“We didn’t know you were coming,” said Bromfield. 

“We didn’t know you were girls,” said Roger. 

Chippy said nothing. 

They all shook hands, and then a silence fell upon the 
group. 

“Please take my nieces to their room, Mrs. Sparks,” 
said Dr. Hale. 

He went into his office, and the four boys followed 
him and closed the door. 


Ill 


THE SHADOW 





|ATHER!’^ exclaimed Billy, Bromfield, 
and Roger with one voice. 

“I know it,” said he. ^‘But what 
could I do? We must make the best 
of it, and your aunt Alice will help us 
out.” 

^‘Josephine is pretty,” said Billy. 

“Who cares for that?” demanded Brom. “They’re 
and they are going to live here! It’s awful!” 

“What made you think they were boys, father?” 
asked Roger. 

“Because their step-mother wrote ^ Jo and Georgie.’ 
How could I think anything else? You know I have 
not kept as closely in touch with your uncle Joseph as 
I should have done. We have been separated so 
many years. Billy, just go up and ask your aunt 
Alice to come in to see us after dinner. Explain it to 
her.” 


“Why not telephone to her, father?” 

“Because we don’t want Central to hear the details 
of our family scrapes. Not that this is a scrape by 
any means — merely a peculiar situation.’! 

28 



JOSEPHINE 


call it a scrape/’ said Bromfield. ^‘What on 
earth are we to do with them? I have always been 
so glad we didn’t have any sisters.” 

^‘Oh, shut up, Brom!” said Billy as he departed. 
“They’re here and they look nice. It would have 
been awful if they had been gawky.” 

Bromfield went to his room. “I suppose we’ve got 
to be mighty particular now,” he muttered. “Wash 
our hands forty times as often, and stand aside to let 
them go in and out of doors first, and all that nonsense. 
Give them our chairs, I suppose, and do all the things 
all the time that Aunt Alice preaches when there are 
girls round. It has always been such a comfort to 
get away from her house and back here where we’re 
all men, and now that’s over!” 

In the mean time, the new-comers had been conveyed 
up-stairs by the reluctant Mrs. Sparks. They mounted 
two flights, and then a door was thrown open and they 
were ushered into a room that was large and bare and 
had the discouraging chill that is peculiar to unused 
rooms. It was as if the four walls cried aloud to them, 
“We have been empty so long we don’t want you, 
whoever you may be.” 

There was a high, old-fashioned bureau between the 
two windows. Some plain chairs were placed stiffly 
with their backs to the wall; there was a washstand, a 
table with a white towel over it, on which rested a 
Bible and a candlestick, and over the mantel -piece 
hung an engraving of Washington crossing the Dela- 
ware. All this became visible when Mrs. Sparks, 
29 


JOSEPHINE 


having deposited the bags which she carried, had 
struck a match and lighted the sohtary candle. 

‘‘The gas doesn’t come up to the third story,” she 
remarked. “However, I don’t know as you’d know 
how to manage it. As like as not you’d blow it out 
and we’d all be smothered in our beds.” 

Josephine laughed, but Georgiana turned an in- 
dignant face upon the housekeeper. 

“Do you suppose we don’t have gas in Seattle?” 
she asked. “We have gas and electric hghts both. 
We don’t have to use little, old candles out there.” 

“Well, I don’t know anything about such an out-of- 
the-way place as that is,” said Mrs. Sparks, “and I 
d’ know’s I care to. You’d better get ready and come 
down as soon as you can, for the doctor don’t like to 
wait for his dinner.” She closed the door and the 
girls were left alone. 

“Isn’t she horrid, Jo? Isn’t she perfectly hateful?” 

“Sh! Do be careful, Georgie!” 

“Oh, I don’t hke it here!” continued Georgie. 
“They didn’t seem glad to see us, and they thought we 
were boys. And this room isn’t half as nice and cosey 
as a sleeping-car — or Seattle!” 

“There’s no use in getting homesick,” said Josephine. 
She took off her hat and began to unpack their travel- 
ling-bags. Their trunks had not yet come. “I see it 
in your face, but I tell you it’s of no use. Here we are 
and here we’ve got to stay. The boys look very nice, 
and Uncle Will is a dear. I must say, I wish they 
had known we were coming. It wouldn’t have been 
30 


JOSEPHINE 


quite so — well, so queer. However, we had to come, 
for mamma sent us, and there was nothing else for us to 
do, and it wasn’t our fault that she didn’t send word 
sooner.” 

Georgie did not reply. She was peering into the 
wardrobe and opening the bureau drawers. 

“Hurry and wash your face and hands,” continued 
Josephine, “and we’ll make ourselves look as nice as 
we can. You know we have always wanted brothers.” 

“These boys are not our brothers, and if they don’t 
like us — ” 

“We’ll make them like us,” said Jo, valiantly. 
“It all lies within ourselves. The only person I have 
any doubts about is Mrs. Sparks. She already hates 
us both, it is easy to see. But Uncle Will will make 
up for everything else. He is not a bit like father, 
but he is nice, and he can laugh. I do love laughing 
people. And he is very handsome. He has a splendid 
face. I don’t see how he stands Mrs. Sparks. Her 
name is very suggestive, isn’t it? I feel as if sparks 
would fly out of her every time she is poked. It will 
be so exhilarating to do the poking. Now, Georgie, 
my boy, cheer up ! Let me tie this fresh, white bow 
on your hair, and then we’ll go down and subjugate 
our masculine relatives.” 

Josephine looked very attractive when she and her 
little sister joined their uncle’s family in the library. 
She was not by any means a beautiful girl, nor even 
remarkably pretty, but she had soft, bright hair with 
a wave in it, fearless, candid, blue eyes, excellent 
31 


JOSEPHINE 


teeth, and a bright, healthy color in her cheeks. Her 
eyes and features were very much like those of her 
uncle and his eldest son. 

Dr. Hale was standing with his back to the fire 
and the boys were lounging on the big, leather-covered 
sofa and chairs. They sprang to their feet when the 
girls came in, and stood like statues, very stiff and 
straight. They were nice-looking boys, and at this 
moment each one was endeavoring to appear cordial. 
As it is always difficult for boys to conceal their real 
feelings, the result gave a sensation of extreme embar- 
rassment to every one, and Josephine, with her usual 
keenness, was not deceived. She knew perfectly well 
that the boys would wilhngly have transported their 
cousins back to Seattle could it have been done. 
She felt a sharp touch of dismay. Then her spirit 
rose to the occasion. She put her arm about Georgie^s 
shoulders and they stood together. 

know you wish we hadn’t come,” she said, with 
a little laugh, “but we couldn’t help it. Our step- 
mother sent us, so you mustn’t blame us for it. But 
we aren’t going to bother you a bit. You must go 
on just the same as if we were not here. We’ve 
never had any brothers or seen much of boys, but I 
know they think it is horrid to have girls round all 
the time. But there are two of us, so we can keep 
together. It isn’t as bad as if we were only one.” 
She clasped Georgie a little tighter as she spoke. She 
was indeed glad that they were two. 

“Oh, you needn’t think anything of that sort,” said 
32 


JOSEPHINE 


Billy. It was always so easy for Billy to say pleasant 
things. “I like girls, and very likely we’ll have a 
better time with you in the house.” 

^^Very true,” said his father. “For my part, I’m 
very glad you are here. Last night I had no daughters, 
to-night I have two! Come in to dinner and we’ll 
get acquainted over our mutton.” 

They sat on either side of their uncle. Billy’s 
place was at the other end of the table, and Josephine 
wondered if he poured the coffee in the morning. She 
had noticed that the other boys had said nothing in 
reply to her little speech. She knew that it would 
be difficult to win their liking. Bromfield’s face, full 
of marked character with its rather square jaw and 
broad forehead, interested her extremely. He looked 
as if he were going to he something. She was wondering 
what that something would be, when he glanced up 
suddenly from his plate and met her steady gaze. 
He said nothing but returned it as steadily. 

“You know how to stare,” she said, laughing. 

“So do you. You began it.” 

“I was wondering what your hobby is — ^you have 
one, haven’t you?” 

Dr. Hale and Billy laughed. “You are a good 
guesser,” said the doctor. Brom has passed through 
the birds’-egg and postage-stamp periods, and now 
it’s autographs. When he isn’t rigging up a telephone 
or fitting us out with some new electrical contrivance 
he is writing to a famous personage for his signa- 
ture.” 


33 


JOSEPHINE 


“Oh, how funny!'’ exclaimed Georgiana, who thus 
far had said very little. 

“I don't see why you think so," said Bromfield, 
rather distantly. “It is very interesting." 

“That is just what I think. I meant funny that you 
should be doing just what Jo is." 

“Do you collect them?" he asked, turning to 
Josephine. 

“Yes, I have a few." 

“She has a lot of good ones," interposed Georgie. 
“She has Thomas W. Parks, Edward Holt, and Mabel 
Martin. Letters from them, whole letters." 

“Who are they?" asked Roger. The others had 
preserved a decorous silence. 

“Why, have you never heard of them?" said Jo. 
“They are famous people of Seattle. Mabel Martin is 
an authoress." The names had not made the im- 
pression for which she had hoped. 

“Seattle is so very far away from us that we don't 
know half that we ought about it," said Dr. Hale. 
“You must tell us about these people." 

“Well, have you ever heard of Queen LiHuokalani ?" 
asked Josephine. 

There was a chorus of “Yes, we've heard of her." 

“Have you got hers?" asked Bromfield, with 
flattering interest. 

“Yes, and Li Hung Chang's." 

“Why, you have got some good ones! I'd like to 
see them." 

“They are in my trunk. It hasn't come yet." 

34 


JOSEPHINE 


your trunks!” exclaimed their uncle. 
never thought to ask you about them. My dear girls, 
you vdll soon find out what an absent-minded old 
fellow I am. There is the telephone. Just see who 
it is, Roger. Why didn’t you bring them out?” 

“We didn’t know how to manage it,” said Josephine. 
“You know we are not used to travelling very much, 
and — and it was so confusing when we arrived in 
Boston. We didn’t know just where we were to take 
the train to come out to Stockton.” 

“You should have been met,” said Dr. Hale, re- 
morsefully. “But you must remember I had not 
been told the train you were coming by, nor even 
the road. We will send for your trunks. I think you 
are pretty good travellers to come across the continent 
alone.” 

“We had friends with us as far as Chicago, and the 
conductors were very kind. Every one was kind to 
us.” 

“Except the lady with the spangled cape,” said 
Georgiana. 

“What did she do?” asked Billy. 

“Stole Jo’s purse and left some of the spangles in her 
little bag. Mr. Jackson, the nice conductor, found 
them.” 

“Did you lose your purse?” exclaimed Dr. Hale. 
“Was all your money in it?” 

“Yes,” said Josephine, blushing hotly. “The con- 
ductor was very kind and made it all right about our 
tickets and lent us ten dollars to come on with. I — I 
35 


4 


JOSEPHINE 


said you would return it, Uncle Will. I didn’t know 
what else to do but take it.” 

Quite right. I am glad you found such a friend. 
What is his name?” 

Jackson, and he knows Stockton, and knows 
who you are. He said he had been here once.” 

“Jackson? It is a common enough name. I don’t 
remember him, but that is not surprising. I see so 
many people. Roger, who was at the telephone?” 

“You’re to go to the Blakes’ as soon as you can, 
father,” replied Roger, resuming his seat and his 
dinner. 

Dr. Hale hastily finished his and soon left the house. 
The young people went to the library, but presently 
Bromfield disappeared quietly from the room; Roger 
soon followed him, and then Chippy likewise vanished; 
lastly Billy rose. 

“I’m awfully sorry,” said he, politely. “But I’ve 
got to study, if you will excuse me. You see — er — ” 

“Oh, don’t mind us,” said Josephine. “Georgie is 
tired out and I’ll go up with her soon. We will both 
go to bed early.” 

“Aunt Alice is coming in to see you,” said Billy. 
“You’d better wait up for her.” 

He had scarcely left the room by one door before 
Mrs. Sparks entered by another. She had put on her 
best dress, feeling as do many women in other social 
circles, that to be well clothed is to be well armed. 
Her best dress, which had borne the honor for many 
years, was of stiff and glistening black silk. It would 
36 


JOSEPHINE 


stand alone, as Mrs. Sparks had many times informed 
her friends, and, having been fashioned ten or twelve 
years ago, it was made with sleeves of imposing size. 
Being a small woman, Mrs. Sparks gave the impression 
of being carried into the room between two large, black 
balloons. She had ceased to weep, and her handker- 
chief was no longer in evidence, but her eyes were of a 
reminiscent redness, and the most unobserving person 
would have known that she was depressed. 

“I thought I’d come in and speak to you,” said she, 
in a dismal voice, ^Hhe doctor being out and the boys 
gone to their books. I thought I’d tell you right now 
that there ain’t no use your expectin’ things would be 
different here now you have come. There ain’t no 
use. I’ve took care of ’em, man and boys, ten years. 
Ever since Mrs. Hale — a weak, pindlin’ woman she was, 
always was ’s long as I knew her; hadn’t no stamina 
— ever since she died. I come right in, and here I’ve 
stayed. I always was one that could take hold and 
stick. Mr. Sparks used to say I was one of the stickin’ 
kind. As long as you’ve got here, I won’t say what 
I had in my mind to say — that I couldn’t see what on 
earth you’d travelled from land’s end to visit this 
family for. They’re not used to women’s ways, except 
mine, and they don’t want ’em. I won’t say that as 
long as you’re here. I am one as can hold her peace 
when words is wantin’ to say what. But I will say 
this — you’re here, but you’d better not try to have 
things different. I’ll — ” 

‘^But, Mrs. Sparks,” interrupted Josephine, “we 
37 


JOSEPHINE 


don^t want things to be different. We haven’t the 
slightest intention of changing anything. I can’t 
imagine what you mean. I — I — ” Her voice 
trembled and she paused. She was tired and excited. 
It was hard to keep from crying. 

^‘Well, I’m glad you don’t, though I have my 
doubts,” continued Mrs. Sparks. ‘‘One would ha’ 
thought the doctor had about as much as he could 
attend to already without two more bein’ landed 
on him to eat him out of house and home, and take 
up his time, but the ways of Providence is past findin’ 
out, as the patient woman knows to her cost.” 

“We are not going to take up his time, and as to 
our eating — ” 

.“My dear girls,” broke in a new voice. It was like 
a sea-breeze on a sultry day. “I am so glad you are 
here. Which is Georgie and which is Jo?” 

The sisters turned quickly. Was it possible that 
there was some one who was glad to see them? A 
lady had come in unobserved by any one of them. 
No one knew how long she had been there, for they 
had not heard the front door close. Apparently she 
had left her wraps in the hall, for she was in a soft, 
white, woollen dress, with no covering on her dark 
hair. 

“I am sure this is Georgie,” she said, and kissed her; 
“and you are Jo!” 

“And you are Aunt Alice — at least, I mean, Mrs. 
Emlen,” exclaimed Josephine, blushing at her slip 
of the tongue. 


38 


JOSEPHINE 


am Aunt Alice,” corrected Mrs. Emlen. ‘‘Of 
course you must call me just what the boys do. I 
am sure you will be glad to find what they would have 
spoken of in old times as ‘a female relative.^” She 
laughed as she spoke. “Good-evening, Mrs. Sparks. 
You’ve been trying to make the girls feel at home, I 
suppose. That was good of you.” 

Mrs. Sparks murmured “good-evening” and vanish- 
ed. Mrs. Emlen’s face was full of fun. “It is the 
only way to manage her,” she whispered, gayly. “Just 
refuse to see her rough edges and cross corners. I 
heard what she was saying when I came in. You poor 
children! Now just begin at the beginning and tell 
me all about everything. Nobody knew you were 
coming and nobody met you! It was too bad, wasn’t 
it? But you see we couldn’t help it. And wasn’t 
it funny that your uncle thought you were boys? I 
am very glad you are not. It will be so good for his 
boys to have you here. It is just what they need. 
I really think it is the very best thing for them that 
could happen, and they will soon see it that way them- 
selves. Nice boys, all of them, but they need some 
feminine management. We three will give it to them, 
won’t we? Suppose you take me up-stairs and show 
me which room Mrs. Sparks has put you in.” 

She drew their hands through either arm and they 
went up the broad stairs, all laughing and talking. 
The girls felt as though they had been suddenly 
transported to a place where one might, after all, be 
happy. It was. as unexpected a development as that 
39 


JOSEPHINE 


which comes in a fairy tale, when the hero stands on 
a magic carpet or presses a ring, and, presto! all is 
delightful. 

“You don’t mean to tell me you are up in the third 
story back!” exclaimed Mrs. Emlen, as they opened 
the door. “It is as cold as Greenland here in winter, 
and it is only half furnished. You see, she thought 
you were boys. I’ll arrange it. Just leave it to me. 
To-morrow come to my house right after breakfast. 
I have a little girl you must get acquainted with. In 
fact, I shall keep you there all day, and in the afternoon 
we’ll have one or two of the Stockton girls to meet you. 
There are several very nice girls in Stockton.” 

They went down-stairs again and she chatted on, 
and after a while Billy came down and joined them 
and Mr. Emlen came in. It was very pleasant, and 
when the girls went to bed their hearts were lighter 
than would have been thought possible early in the 
evening. The doctor came home just before they 
went up-stairs, tired with his long drive, but not too 
tired to wish them a cheery good-night. 

“I am glad you are here,” he said, kindly, as he 
kissed his nieces. “You are nice girls and you will 
do us all good. To-morrow we will talk about your 
schooling.” 

A little later, their light having been extinguished, 
Josephine went to the window. It opened upon the 
side of the house. The moon shone brightly and she 
could see the road, the white church on the other side 
of High Street, and the house next door. Dr. Hale’s 
40 


JOSEPHINE 


driveway lay between his house and the fence, with a 
bit of lawn. On the other side of the fence was a 
garden, beyond that a large stone house, set farther 
back from the street than her uncle’s. The lower part 
of this house was dark, for all the blinds were tightly 
closed. There were two lighted windows on the second 
floor, but the shades were drawn. Josephine, looking 
at them carelessly, saw a shadow pass. It crossed one 
window, then the other. Presently it returned. 
Evidently some one was pacing up and down the 
room. 

“ Why don’t you come to bed ?” murmured Georgiana, 
in a sleepy voice. 

“1 am watching something,” replied Josephine. 
“Georgie,” she added, presently, ^‘it is the queerest 
thing!” But already Georgie was asleep. 

Josephine watched until she was too tired to stand 
longer at the window, and still the shadow flitted to 
and fro. She thought, but she was not absolutely sure, 
that it was that of a woman. 


IV 


THE FIRST DAY 

HE next morning — one of those morn- 
ings in November when field and river 
and hill are bathed in the soft haze 
that lends enchantment to the most 
prosaic landscape, and which made 
Stockton more lovely than ever — 
Josephine and Georgiana, soon after breakfast, went, 
as had been arranged the night before, to spend the 
day at Mrs. Emlen’s. Greatly to Josephine’s relief 
her uncle had asked her again for the conductor’s 
address, and had said that he would send him a money- 
order for ten dollars that day. 

will write him a note now before I have time to 
forget it,” said Dr. Hale, ^^and thank him for his 
kindness. Then I must be off. Make yourselves 
at home, girls. Do exactly what you like, and — and — 
Josephine, just come in here a minute!” He drew her 
into his office, closed the door, and spoke in the lowest 
tones. 

‘‘My dear, don’t be discouraged if Mrs. Sparks is 
peculiar. Just take her as she is. Don’t be afraid of 
her. She manages us all in a way. It is tiresome, of 
42 



JOSEPHINE 


course, but she has her good points/.’ He was in- 
terrupted by a tap upon the office door. 

“There she is now!” he exclaimed. “Just go out 
through the waiting - room, Josephine. Her knock 
sounded as if she were upset about something, and 
we’ll try not to add to it.” 

Mrs. Sparks was indeed upset. Mrs. Emlen had 
already telephoned, early though it was, and had 
proposed that another room should be made ready 
for the young ladies — the fine, large room on the front 
of the house, on the second floor, too, that had always 
been reserved for a guest-chamber ! Was it considerate, 
was it kind — 

The doctor cut her short. “A very good plan, Mrs. 
Sparks. Mrs. Emlen spoke to me about it last night. 
My nieces must have the best we can give them.” And 
his buggy being already at the door, he hurried off 
without having written the note, and leaving Mrs. 
Sparks to more tears and greater turmoil. It was 
outrageous, as she said to the long-suffering maid- 
servant, that they should have two days of cleaning 
and getting ready of rooms. The one she had prepared 
yesterday was good enough. And thus another stone 
was added to the tower of disapproval which was rear- 
ing itself in the mind of Mrs. Sparks. 

It all looked very strange to Josephine’s Western 
eyes when she and Georgiana stepped out on the porch 
on their way to Mrs. Emlen’s. Next to Dr. Hale’s 
place on the left was a driveway that led to a fine 
old house far back from the road. Beyond this avenue 
43 




JOSEPHINE 


was the Congregational Church, which was built of 
wood and was of quaint, colonial architecture, with the 
white steeple and the Puritan simplicity of design 
that are found in New England, but not in the newer 
West. On the other side of High Street was another 
church, also white and of meeting - house aspect. 
In front of this was what had once been the church 
green and which was now preserved in careful neatness 
and verdure, marked at two corners by granite slabs, 
one of which set forth by means of an engraved bronze 
plate the fact that William Pitt had proved himself 
the friend of liberty, and the other that this was the 
site of the first school-house in Stockton. Electric cars 
now traversed High Street. Modern improvements 
had come to stay, but historic interest was not to be 
driven out. 

Mrs. Emlen^s carriage had been sent for the girls and 
was waiting at the front door. As they drove out of 
the gate a girl on horseback rode rapidly past and 
turned into the avenue on the right, the one which led 
to the house that Josephine had watched the night 
before. As she passed it now she looked at it with in- 
terest. It was gloomy enough even by day. The girl 
dismounted quickly and a waiting groom took the horse. 

“How lovely it must be to have a horse of one’s 
own!” said Josephine. “They must be very rich 
people who live there. I wonder what the girl is like, 
and if I shall get to know her. It doesn’t seem now 
as if we should ever know anybody. It is so strange 
and queer.’! 


44 


JOSEPHINE 


I like it better than I did last night/^ said Georgie. 
‘‘Such a lot of boys make it fun. Brom and Roger 
have a secret, I think, and Chippy wants to find it out. 
I heard them scuffling last night. If Chippy had only 
asked me to help him I would have done it. You 
know, Jo, how splendid I am for finding out secrets.’' 

“I should think you were. But you’d better be 
careful, Georgie. The boys won’t like it if you ask 
too many questions. I shouldn’t try to find out their 
secrets if I were you.” 

“Huh!” said Georgie, with an injured air. “Do 
you suppose I’d ask them? Do you, Jo?” 

“I don’t know, I’m sure. You ask a great many 
questions.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t. I could find out in other 
ways.” 

They soon left the more thickly settled part of the 
town, or the village, as the old Stocktonians still called 
it, and, driving up a pretty road which at another 
season would have been shady with trees, turned 
abruptly to enter a gateway and climb a steep avenue. 
This avenue led to the Emlens’ house, which was built 
on the summit of a hill. It was a large, white house 
with porches and columns, and was surrounded with 
well-kept grounds. From the old-fashioned garden, 
which in summer bloomed with fragrant flowers and 
spicy box borders, one could look for miles over the 
beautiful country, and there were fine views from 
every window. When Josephine entered the house 
she caught her breath, it was all so luxurious, so 
45 


JOSEPHINE 


different in its atmosphere of solid and long-existing 
comfort from that to which she had been accustomed. 
The broad hall, with rooms on either side, led to a 
conservatory, and the house was filled with the soft 
and subtle perfume of roses, heliotrope, and other sweet- 
smelhng fiowers. In the doorway of the conservatory 
stood little Beatrice Emlen. 

She was a small, fairy-like creature of nine, with 
golden curls. She stood with her head poised slightly 
to one side as though she were listening, and the eyes 
had a strange, unseeing look, for the little girl was 
bhnd. 

“You have come!” she exclaimed, dropping a quaint 
httle courtesy and then moving quickly forward. 
“Mother will be here soon. I am very glad to see 
you.” 

The girls had been told of her misfortune, which had 
come after a severe illness when she was a baby. 
Josephine stooped to greet her, but Georgiana hung 
back abashed. She had never before seen a blind 
person, except occasionally on the street. It awed 
her to come into such close contact with a child who 
was so different from other children. Her own eyes 
grew very dark and solemn, and she stood at one side 
and watched. Josephine stooped down and Beatrice 
ran her hand quickly and lightly over her face. 

“Are you Jo?” she asked. 

“Yes, dear.” 

“I like your face. Where is the little one?” 

“She is here.” 


46 


JOSEPHINE 


Jo drew her sister forward and Beatrice was about 
to make her acquaintance in the same manner, but 
Georgie moved her head quickly away. Then in re- 
sponse to a sign from Jo she unwillingly submitted. 

‘‘You are not as laughing as your sister,’^ said 
Beatrice. “Why are you so solemn? And why donT 
you like me? I am blind. I can't see like other 
children. I can only feel. I wish you would like me." 

Georgiana hesitated for a moment. The two 
children stood facing each other, Josephine watching 
anxiously. Some intuition told her not to interfere. 
Georgiana still hesitated. Then suddenly she stepped 
forward and placed her hands on Beatrice's shoulders. 

“I do love you," she said. “I only had to think 
a minute to find out. I don't like very much to have 
my face felt, but you wouldn't like it if you knew I 
was staring at you. It's the same thing, I suppose. 
Yes, I like you. We'll be intimate friends." 

“Oh, I'm so glad!" exclaimed Beatrice, joyously. 
“I've wanted one dreadfully. They always have 
them in books, but I never have. Come with me and 
I'll show you my playthings." And the two went up- 
stairs hand-in-hand. 

Mrs. Emlen came down immediately afterwards. 
“I waited purposely," she said. “It is better always 
to let my little girl become acquainted by herself with 
strangers when it is possible. You are not real strangers, 
however. She has been longing to see you ever since 
she heard of your coming. She has not had many 
children to play vnth, for there are none of her age who 
47 


JOSEPHINE 


are willing to put up with her limitations for any length 
of time. They are sweet and kind to her, but they 
like rougher games than she can play. They run 
about and climb, which, of course, she can’t do. I hope 
she and Georgie will be friends.” 

She spoke calmly and naturally, and Josephine 
wondered how it was possible for a mother to become 
accustomed to such an affliction. Mrs. Emlen seemed 
to divine her thoughts. 

^‘My dear,” she said, smiling rather sadly, ^^you 
know we cannot keep our sorrows in evidence. It 
wouldn’t be fair to other people.” 

“Why, how did you know what I was thinking?’! 
asked Josephine, startled. 

“I am a good guesser. But now let me tell you 
that I haye asked two or three of the Stockton girls 
to com^his afternoon. I hope you will like them. 
I have not asked many — only Violet Blake, Harriet 
Hoffman, and Lilian Thayer. The Thayers live next 
door to your uncle.” 

“In the stone house? And does she ride on horse- 
back? I saw a girl go in there this morning on horse- 
back.” 

“That was she, no doubt, though many of the girls 
about here ride. I hope you and Lilian will be friends. 
It will be good for her.” 

Mrs. Emlen was called away at this point, arid 
Josephine was left to wonder how it could possibly 
be good for a girl who had so many possessions that 
she could ride on horseback to become a friend of 
48 


JOSEPHINE 


hers. She must have many friends already, for ap- 
parently there were a number of girls in Stockton 
of about their age. It was all very interesting, and 
with the adaptability of her nature and the eagerness 
of her youth Josephine already began to like her new 
life in spite of Mrs. Sparks and the boys. She was 
obliged to confess to herself that she had found it 
difficult to “get on” with her cousins thus far, but she 
hoped for a better state of affairs in the future. In 
the mean time, it would be delightful to meet three 
girls with whom she might become friends. 

As four o’clock, the hour at which they had been 
invited, drew near, she became more and more excited. 
“I wish I had on a nicer dress,” she said. “It is the 
one I have been travelling in. Our trunks had not 
come this morning.” 

“You look very nice with your fresh collar a^d cuffs. 
Being in black, one’s dress is not so noticeable,” said 
Mrs. Emlen. “Here comes some one. I hear wheels 
on the gravel.” 

It proved to be Lilian Thayer. She was a tall girl, 
with brown hair and eyes which vaguely reminded 
Josephine of some one whom she knew, though she 
could not have told who it was. With her usual 
impetuosity she felt a strong and immediate liking for 
her. In spite of Lilian’s shy, retiring manner they 
were soon chatting with great cordiality. Presently 
the other girls arrived. 

“Violet overtook me and gave me a lift,” said 
Harriet Hoffman, shaking hands with Mrs. Emlen. 

49 


JOSEPHINE 


So you are Miss Hale,” she added, turning to Josephine. 
^^We have all heard about you and are dying to meet 
you.” 

She was small and vivacious, moving her hands as 
she talked, with rapid and somewhat fascinating 
gesticulation. Violet Blake was very different. She 
was as tall as Lilian, and had a peculiar manner, which 
Josephine could not at first understand. It seemed as 
though she were measuring her — studying her with 
cold and critical calculation. Lihan now became 
very quiet. She talked only to Mrs. Emlen, unless 
she was directly addressed by the other girls, and 
then she answered shyly. 

^^How awfully exciting it must be for you to come 
to stay at your uncle’s and be in the house with the 
boys!” said Harriet Hoffman. “Aren’t they dears? 
I am perfectly wild about Billy. And Brom is so inter- 
esting ! He hates girls, you know, and we never can get 
him to do anything with us. It would be the greatest 
triumph to make some sort of impression upon Brom.”. 

Josephine looked at her curiously. “I don’t know 
them very well yet,” she answered; “you know we 
only got here last night.” 

“How awfully funny not to know your own cousins! 
And they didn’t know you were coming and thought 
you were boys! It must have been awfully queer and 
not a bit nice.” 

“Why, how did you hear that?” asked Josephine. 

“Oh, it’s all over Stockton! Every one is talking 
about it.” 


50 


JOSEPHINE 


“Harriet went to Boston this morning as usual on 
the train with Billy,” said Violet Blake, “and as usual 
he told her everything.” 

“Vi! Do hush!”, exclaimed Harriet, looking very 
much pleased. “Billy and I are great friends, I must 
confess, and he tells me a lot.” 

It made Josephine somewhat uncomfortable to feel 
that she had been discussed by her cousin. Then she 
said to herself, “ I suppose it was only natural, if they 
are old friends,” and turning to Lilian Thayer she tried 
to draw her into the conversation. Mrs. Emlen had 
left the room. 

“Are you going to the game?” asked Harriet, presently. 

“The game? What game?” 

Harriet laughed immoderately and Violet joined in 
her merriment. 

“Don’t you know what Hhe game’ is? Well, you 
are from the wild and woolly West! But I thought 
the excitement about that reached even to the Pacific. 
The idea of her not having heard of the game!” 

“Perhaps if you will explain I shall know what you 
mean,” said Josephine, her cheeks burning. 

“She means the football game between Harvard 
and Yale,” said Lilian Thayer; “everybody here is 
full of it at this time, and we take it for granted that 
people from other places are just as much interested; 
but of course you couldn’t be.’’ She spoke with some 
effort, but Josephine’s embarrassment made her for- 
get her own shyness. 

“I don’t know why not,” said Violet, with her 
s 51 


JOSEPHINE 


coldest manner. “Harvard and Yale are the two 
great colleges of the United States.’^ 

“Oh, there are others,” exclaimed Josephine. 
“There is the Leland Stanford University and — ” 

“We don’t count those Western colleges. I know 
there are lots of little colleges scattered all through 
the West, but I never think of them in connection 
with ours in the East. Of course, the United States 
really means the East.” 

Josephine broke into an irrepressible little laugh. 
“How awfully funny you are! Have you ever been 
outside of Boston and Stockton?” 

“Of course. I have been to Europe and New 
York, and we go to Bar Harbor every summer,”, 
replied Violet, freezingly. 

“But tell me more about the football game,” said 
Josephine, fearful that she had been rude. “Do you 
all go?” 

“Oh yes,” said Harriet. “It is the great event of 
the year. We talk of nothing else until it is over. 
One year they play at New Haven, the other at 
Cambridge. This year it is Harvard’s turn to have it, 
and we are all perfect^ wild. Of course you will go. 
Dr. Hale always goes, and the boy^ and the Emlens. 
We wear red hats and flowers and wave red flags. 
What do you think about Big Smith, Violet? They 
say there is some talk of Yale objecting to him.” 
And she plunged into a conversation so full of football 
technicalities that Josephine could understand nothing 
of it. 


52 


JOSEPHINE 


When the time came for the girls to go, after having 
had something to eat, Mrs. Emlen asked Lilian to send 
her own carriage home and drive down in theirs, which 
was to take the Hales. want you and Josephine 
to see as much of each other as possible,^^ she whispered. 

But although they drove home together the two 
girls had very little conversation. Lilian was so 
silent that Jo gave up the attempt in despair and 
Georgie did most of the talking. They found their 
trunks awaiting them in their new room, but there was 
not time for more than a hasty glance about the large, 
pleasant chamber, for it was already dinner-time. 

‘^Have you had a good time to-day, girls?’' asked 
Dr. Hale a little later. They were at the table, and the 
conversation among the boys had been so animated 
that Josephine had scarcely spoken. They, too, were 
debating the approaching game, the powers and 
probabilities of ‘^Big Smith,’’ and the awful fear lest 
he should be dropped because of Yale’s objections to 
his possibly semi-professional past. Josephine had 
heard the merits of Presidential candidates discussed 
with the same ardor, but football politics were new 
to her. Her uncle appeared to be as much interested 
as were his sons. They all seemed to be depressed 
as to the outcome of the game save Billy. He was of a 
hopeful temperament, and his natural optimism gave 
it to Harvard. 

Chippy was silent, as he was usually forced to be by 
his elders on such occasions, but he listened eagerly, 
storing away in his receptive mind all the information 
53 


JOSEPHINE 


gained, with the intention of imparting it to a select 
circle of admirers at school on Monday. Chippy was 
something of a hero to his class. Had he not three 
older brothers, of whose varied accomphshments and 
deeds of prowess his friends had never been left in 
ignorance? Billy was looked upon as the coming 
football champion when he should have entered 
Harvard, and already the small boy and his mates 
glowed with expectant pride. It would be a great day 
for Chippy when he had a brother on the team. 

^^We have had a very good time. Uncle Will,^^ said 
Josephine, in response to her uncle’s question. ^^Aunt 
Alice — she told us to call her that — is so kind, and 
Beatrice is sweet. And — and the girls were nice.” 

^‘What girls were there?” asked Billy. 

Josephine told him. like Miss Thayer,’! she said. 
“And Miss Hoffman is very pleasant and lively,” 

“Lively!” repeated Brom. “I should say so. That 
girl is too much for me. And as for Violet Blake, she 
is a regular ice-cream freezer.” 

“That is because you don’t understand her,” said 
Billy. “She’s all right.” 

“I understand that icicles won’t melt within a 
mile of her,” said Bromfield. “She makes me very 
tired.” 

“Is there any girl that doesn’t?” 

“Not many. I like Miss Katherine Blake; she is 
very different from the magnificent Violet. Of the 
younger girls I think Lilian Thayer is the best of the 
lot, only she is so dismal.” 


54 


JOSEPHINE 


‘‘Why is she so sad?^’ asked Georgiana. “Why 
does she say so little? Why doesn’t she smile more 
and laugh like other people?” 

“Ask me an easy one/’ replied Bromfield. 

“Oh, you know why, Brom,” said his father. 
“They have had a great deal of trouble, Georgie. 
Lilian leads a very sad life, very different from other 
girls. I hope you will see a good deal of her, Jo. 
She needs a bright, sunny-hearted girl like you.” 

“Why, Uncle Will!” exclaimed Josephine, much 
pleased. “What makes you think I am sunny- 
hearted ?” 

“It doesn’t take long to find out a thing of that 
kind, my dear. But now let me explain to you that 
this is Friday night. You know it already, no doubt, 
but perhaps you don’t know that it is our gala night, 
the boys’ and mine. We stay at home and play games 
and have a jolly time. If it is a possible thing to 
avoid it I don’t go out at all, and at any rate not 
until after nine o’clock, unless there is some very 
urgent case. To-night we will have a game of seven- 
handed euchre. What do you say to that, boys?” 

When they left the table Josephine went to her 
uncle, and, shyly slipping her hand through his arm, 
she looked up into his kind face. “Thank you very 
much. Uncle Will, for giving us such a nice room. We 
found it all ready for us when we got back to-night, 
and our trunks waiting for us. You are very good to 
take us, and — and I am so sorry you were not asked 
beforehand if we could come.” 

55 


JOSEPHINE 


dear child,” he said, “not another word 
about that. You are my brother’s daughters and now 
you must be mine. I am glad you like your room. 
You must tell Mrs. Sparks you are pleased. Perhaps 
you have already done so.” 

“Yes, I went to thank her right away, but I am 
afraid I don’t understand her quite yet. She seemed 
very cross.” 

“ Only a little manner of hers, my dear. She is the 
kindest-hearted woman who ever lived, underneath. 
Where are the boys? Where are Brom and Roger?”. 

“Gone up-stairs,” replied Chippy. “They’ve got a 
secret, father. It’s an awful secret, too.” 

“ How do you know so much about it if it is a secret. 
Chippy?” 

And Chippy, knowing his father’s sentiments on the 
subject of trying to discover what was no concern of 
his, said no more. Georgiana, however, drew him 
aside. 

“Do you want me to help you find it out?” she 
asked. 

“Huh!”, said Chippy, very snubbily. “I know it 
already.” And then it was Georgiana’s turn to be- 
come curious. What could that secret be? 


V 


ROGER^S SECRET 





WEEK had passed away when it 
happened one day that Chippy decided 
to spend the afternoon at home. This 
was unusual, for Chippy, as a rule, could 
seldom be withdrawn from his out- 
door pursuits. This Friday afternoon, 
however, there were attractions within doors. To 
begin with, Mrs. Sparks, having finished her other 
household duties, was frying dough-nuts when he re- 
turned from school. The genial odor had spread 
through the house, and Chippy, coming home hungry, 
had found the odor good. He determined to be on 
hand when, after having bobbed merrily for a suf- 
ficient period in the huge frying-kettle, the savory 
balls should be laid, crisp and delectable, upon a 
generous platter, there to await the onslaught of four 
ravenous boys. There were now two girls added to 
the list, Chippy regretted to think, and it was important, 
if he wished to get his share, to be on hand early. 
No one knew whaJb the capacity of the girls might be 
in the matter of dough-nuts, and it would be well to be 
prepared for the worst. 


57 


JOSEPHINE 


He also stayed at home this fine afternoon because 
that mysterious something which he wished to in- 
vestigate was still in Brom’s room. There was no 
reason why he should 'not investigate it, because he 
could imagine no reason why it should be kept secret 
from him. There had been something there for a 
week, which Brom and Roger evidently wished to 
hide from him, and such a desire he considered al- 
together absurd. They had a room together, and 
Chippy occupied a small one adjoining. It was 
always a maddening moment when the older boys 
closed and locked the door between and talked in low 
tones. It was often more than Chippy could bear, 
and he was wont to retaliate by kicking the door 
violently. It was never worth while to do this. It 
only wore out the door and did not enlighten Chippy. 
They had pursued this plan last night. They had 
actually wakened him up by the noise they made 
when they came to bed, and then had forcibly ejected 
him from their room when he went in to remonstrate, 
and had locked him out. The combat had made him 
very wide-awake and his indignation had added to his 
sleeplessness. He thought they were discussing the 
girls, from one or two words that he caught, but he 
was also quite sure that Roger had something very 
wonderful which he was displaying to Brom. It was 
all outrageous, and Chippy finally fell asleep plotting 
dark and dreadful deeds of vengeance. More than 
once had remarks been made which confirmed his 
suspicions. Brom had said to Roger that very morn- 
68 


JOSEPHINE 


ing, it all right To which Roger had replied, 
think so. I’ll take another look before I go.” 
And Brom had then said, You’d better. Above all, 
don’t loosen the slats!” It was the most mysterious 
phrase that Chippy had ever heard. Roger had then 
hurried up to his room. Chippy following hard after. 
He had ordered him out, locked both doors, and 
then had gone to the closet. Chippy distinctly heard 
him open and shut the closet door. He knew it was 
that door, for it had a squeak which was awaiting oil. 
There was something, then, that was hidden there! 
Chippy having discovered this, slid down the balusters 
and was getting into his coat in the hall when Roger 
came down. 

This afternoon, having stuffed both pockets with 
dough -nuts, he went directly to his brothers’ room. He 
knew that he was safe from interruption for at least 
an hour. The boys were to come out on a late train, 
his father was busy in his office, Mrs. Sparks had 
company (the friend had waited until the dough-nuts 
were done and was now enjoying them with a cup of 
tea), and the cousins were at Aunt Alice’s. It was a 
propitious moment. 

He opened the squeaking door. It led to a large 
closet with a window. Boots and shoes were strewn 
over the floor, trousers and coats hung from the pegs; 
boxes, books, bags, litter of all sorts, were stored upon 
the shelves. In short, it was a typical boy’s closet. 
To the ordinary observer it would be quite useless to 
search for anything in it, but Chippy, being a boy 
59 


JOSEPHINE 


himself, was not dismayed. His penetrating eye took 
in at a glance the fact that the boots and shoes, in- 
stead of standing in proper pairs or lying loosely 
about the floor with their habitual abandon, were piled 
together in a heap in one corner of the closet. This 
was unusual. Without doubt there was something 
beneath that heap. Joyously he scattered the boots 
and shoes, eagerly he stooped and peered. He gasped 
and straightened himself. He stooped and looked 
again. Unheeding the fact that his exertions had 
caused a dough-nut to roll from his pocket and hide 
itself among the shoes, forgetful of the one which 
he had half devoured and had laid upon the floor, he 
seated himself like a Turk and stared at Roger’s secret. 

The next day being Saturday there was no school. 
Billy was off early on some expedition with a friend, 
Bromfield and Roger went up to the Country Club to 
play tennis. Chippy alone of the boys was at home. 
He had a plan and he was eager to carry it out. He 
felt perfectly sure that if nothing happened to in- 
terfere he should succeed in giving Georgie a good 
scare. ^'What’s the use of having girls around if you 
can’t frighten ’em?” he remarked to his troublesome 
conscience, for Chippy had a conscience in spite ot the 
doubts of his family. He tucked it safely out of the 
way this morning, however, immediately after its 
remonstrance, and in order to carry out his plan he 
invited Georgiana to stay at home and play with him. 
Josephine had been asked to spend the morning with 
Lilian Thayer. 


60 


JOSEPHINE 


Much flattered by the suggestion, Georgie had 
agreed, and when Chippy hinted that he might be 
prevailed upon to impart the secret her excitement 
knew no limit. The first thing to be done was to 
provide themselves with dough -nuts. Mrs. Sparks 
being engaged elsewhere. Chippy with the air of a 
proud proprietor led the way to the stone crock in the 
pantry. They had barely time to fill their pockets 
(Georgie, being a girl with only one, was at a sad dis- 
advantage, but Chippy generously took some extra 
ones for her), to clap the lid on the jar, and with a 
dough-nut in each hand to hurry out-of-doors, when 
Bridget, the maid, entered the pantry. 

suppose it^s them rats again,” said she. 
thought Twas the childer, and Mrs. Sparks said I 
wasn’t to let ’em have no more dough-nuts or they’d 
be sick. Yes, ’twas rats.” And she returned whence 
she came. 

Chippy led the way to the side piazza. It was the 
side farthest from the kitchen and from that part of 
the house in which Mrs. Sparks was usually occupied 
at this time of day. The sun streamed down upon it, 
and the air was so mild and balmy that it was quite 
possible to sit on the steps, middle of November though 
it was. It had been a warm autumn, and even now 
winter delayed its coming. 

The children sat in silence and ate. Although not 
an hour had elapsed since breakfast, the dough-nuts 
tasted uncommonly good to both. Georgiana had 
finished her second and had begun her third before she 
61 


JOSEPHINE 


found time to ask a question. This proved the ex- 
cellence of the dough-nuts. At last she spoke. It 
would have served her purpose better had she remained 
silent, but Georgiana was essentially feminine, and she 
was as yet too young to have entirely grasped the fact 
that to obtain desired information from man, woman 
must often feign indifference. 

“Are you going to tell me the secret?’^ she asked, 
her mouth very full. 

“Dunno,’^ replied Chippy, with equal indistinctness. 
He was round and chubby, with fat, rosy cheeks and 
blue eyes. He wore the look of innocence and right- 
eous dealing that is so often misleading, and in fact 
was the sort of boy whom the ignorant and unsus- 
pecting grown person would describe as a “dear 
httle fellow and then shortly afterwards would ex- 
perience a rough awakening. 

“But you said you would. Chippy!’! exclaimed 
Georgie, reproachfully, fastening her great, dark eyes 
upon him. 

“No, I didn’t. I only said p’r’aps.” 

“It’s the same thing.” 

“Oh no, ’tisn’t — not by a long shot. As long as I 
said ^ p’r’aps’ I can change my mind.” 

Silence, while Georgie made further inroads upon the 
third dough-nut and planned her campaign. 

“Perhaps I know it already,” she said, presently. 

“Oh no, you don’t. If you did you wouldn’t have 
asked me what it is.” 

This was for the moment unanswerable, and several 
62 


JOSEPHINE 

more bites were taken. Then, don’t much care, 
anyway.” 

^‘Oh, you do! I bet you do. Why, if I was to 
tell you you’d jump.” Chippy roared with laughter at 
his own wit. She certainly would jump, and he was 
going to have the fun of seeing her do it. 

“No,” said Georgie, very cannily, “I have quite 
decided that I don’t care anything about it — at least — 
that is” — her natural honesty asserted itself — “I 
don’t care so terribly much. I-is it in the house, 
Chippy? Is it alive?” 

“Do you think I’m going to tell you?” 

His dough-nuts having at last disappeared, he rose. 
He had enjoyed the preliminaries; the time had come 
for the real thing. “We’ll go up-stairs now,” said he. 
“You don’t want to eat any more now. Stuff that in 
your pocket, in case we meet Mrs. Sparks, and come 
along. I guess I may as well tell you.” 

He led the way with a lordly air and Georgiana 
followed, trembling with delighted anticipation. They 
went to the hojs’ room. Chippy closed and locked 
the hall door and also the one that led to his own 
little room. “It’s safer,” said he. “If Mrs. Sparks 
should come up she’ll think Brom or Roger is here. 
We’ll keep very quiet.” Then he opened the closet. 
“Do you see that pile of boots?” 

Georgie admitted that she did. 

“I’ll give you three guesses about what’s under- 
neath ’em.” 

“Is it alive?”, asked Georgie, breathlessly. 

63 


JOSEPHINE 


“Huh! That^s telling. You’ve got to guess, not 
ask questions.” 

“I guess it’s a cat and kittens.” 

Chippy held his sides and rocked in silent mirth. 
“Not much. Guess again.” 

“Candy!” exclaimed Georgie, recklessly. 

“If you’re not a silly! Candy under old boots! 
You’ve only got one more.” 

Georgiana turned and walked across the room. 
She was desperate. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me if I don’t guess right?” 
she asked. It would be dreadful to be within a few 
feet of the desired information and lose it by a wrong 
guess. 

“Don’t believe I will. There’s no real use in your 
knowing.” 

This was maddening. Georgie again traversed the 
room. 

“Come,” said Chippy, peremptorily, “you’ve got 
to say something quick. We can’t stay here all day.” 

“Snakes!” cried Georgiana, in desperation. 

She never knew why she said it. It was one of those 
inspirations that come once or twice in a lifetime. 
Chippy, who had been delving in the boots, rose and 
confronted her. 

“Why, how did you know?” he exclaimed. “You 
peeked!” 

“Is it really that?” cried Georgiana. “Oh, oh, oh! 
I’m so glad I guessed it !” 

“It wasn’t a guess,” said Chippy, very severely. 

64 


JOSEPHINE 


“You know you couldn’t have guessed it. You’ve 
been in here before and found it out. You were only 
pretending you didn’t know. If you hadn’t known 
you never would have said snakes. You couldn’t 
possibly have thought of anything so queer.” 

“Truly, I didn’t, Chippy,” pleaded Georgiana. “It 
just popped into my head, the word snakes. It is no 
queerer than cats and kittens, or candy, and I guessed 
those first. Won’t you please show them to me?” 

It was disappointing. Chippy had looked with 
certainty upon the prospect of giving her the “good 
scare.” He still had his doubts as to her innocence in 
the matter of “peeking.” However, he should soon 
see. He never yet had known a girl who was not 
afraid of a snake. If she showed no fear it would 
prove to him that she had seen it before and was 
therefore prepared. Her sin would find her out. 

“Hide your eyes,” he commanded. 

Georgiana obeyed. Then there came strange noises 
from the closet. Shoes were tossed about, there was a 
sound of hammering, or knocking upon wood. 

“There!” exclaimed Chippy. “Open your eyes.” 

He stood before her, grasping by the neck a good- 
sized, wriggling serpent. 

“Oh,” cried Georgiana, “what a beauty!” 

“Aren’t you afraid?” 

“Why, no. Why should I be afraid? You’ve got 
him tight. Where did he come from? How did 
Roger get him? And why does he keep him up here?” 

“Oh, Roger’s always doing things like that. I 
65 


JOSEPHINE 


think it^s mighty queer you’re not afraid. Most girls 
are. You don’t scare worth a cent. I know you’ve 
seen him before. Now we’ll put him back. Hark! 
What’s that? Some one coming! They’re trying the 
door! Jiminy! Come into the closet and help me.” 

He put the snake in the box and replaced the slat 
which he had removed, without stopping to nail it 
down, tossed back the shoes, and then came out and 
listened. ‘‘They’re gone again. I’ll unlock this door 
and you slip out and go to your room. I’ll go into 
my room and go down-stairs. I’m going out now. 
Don’t you give it away, will you, Georgie? Don’t you 
ever tell I brought you up here, will you?” 

“Of course not,” said Georgiana, readily. 

“Honest In jin?” 

“Honest Injin.” 

“Upon your word and sacred honor?’’ 

“ Upon my word and sacred honor.” 

And then they parted. 

Josephine, meantime, was spending the morning 
with Lilian Thayer. Her uncle had been called to see 
Mrs. Thayer, who was very much of an invahd, and he 
had suggested to Lilian that Josephine should come 
in, she herself being unwilling to leave the house. 
Though there were a number of maids, as well as Miss 
Eaton, the trained nurse, Lilian always insisted upon 
staying close at hand when her mother was ill, al- 
though she seldom went to her room. She was waiting 
in the hall when the doctor came down, and she asked 
with trembling eagerness for his opinion. 

66 


JOSEPHINE 


‘Hs she much worse 

^‘No, my dear. She has had a bad night, that is 
all. Don’t worry, Lilian!” 

^‘How can I help it? I heard her walking about, 
up and down, half the night. Should not Miss Eaton 
keep her more quiet ? Should she be allowed to walk ?” 

“Sometimes it is better to humor her in that. I 
think Miss Eaton understands the case.” 

“If I could only do something to help her!” ex- 
claimed Lilian. “It is so dreadful not to be needed 
by any one. Father doesn’t want me, mother doesn’t 
want me, Jack is gone. It is all so terrible.” 

“I know it is, my dear. It is very, very hard for 
you; but be patient, Lilian. Things will surely take 
a turn some day. I know it requires more courage to 
sit still and wait than to do the hardest kind of work, 
but it is what you must do, my child. Tell me, 
did you like my new niece? She said she enjoyed 
meeting you.” 

“Did she? I am glad of that, though I can’t 
imagine any reason for her liking me. I think she is 
lovely.” 

“How would you like to have her come in and see 
you this morning?” 

“Would she care to?” 

“Of course she would. It would be a kindness to 
ask her. You must remember she is a stranger here, 
and it is hard for her to be so far away from her home 
and sisters. Can you not try to keep her from being 

homesick?” 

6 


67 


JOSEPHINE 


^^Why, I never thought of that,” said Lilian. ^^She 
is so bright and lively that I thought she was the 
happiest girl I had ever met.” 

'‘You can’t always tell. I think she is homesick, 
and I am obhged to be away so much I can do very 
little to help matters. If you would help me — ” 

Of course Lihan agreed, and Dr. Hale went back to 
his house to tell Josephine, chuckling to himself over 
his achievement. 

“It is good of you to come,” said Lihan a little 
later, when she received her guest. 

“It is good of you to have me. I was wondering 
what I should do. Georgie is going to play with 
Chippy this morning, and there seemed to be nothing 
and no one for me, so I was perfectly dehghted when 
Uncle Will told me you wanted me to come.” Josephine 
had a bright voice and a breezy manner that were 
invigorating. 

“How like your uncle you are!” said Lilian, in- 
voluntarily. 

“Am I? I’m glad of that.” 

“I think he is the best and kindest man I have ever 
known. You are a very lucky girl to come to live with 
him.” 

“Yes. I am fortunate to find him what he is, but 
of course it was a little hard to come so far and live 
among strangers. I know, though, that it would have 
been a great deal worse if my own mother were living 
and I had had to leave her, or my father. I pity 
girls who have to do that. And though I left four 
68 


JOSEPHINE 


sisters I have Georgie. But still it is hard to be 
separated. You are fortunate to be in your own 
home with all your family.^’ 

‘^Oh, but I am not,” exclaimed Lilian, a troubled 
look coming into her brown eyes. ‘‘Don’t you know? 
Haven’t you heard? You haven’t. I can’t tell you 
now. Let us speak of something else. Come up to 
my room.” 

She led the way from the beautiful drawing-room 
to her own sitting-room on the next floor. It was 
luxuriously furnished with everything that a girl 
could possibly desire. Well-fllled bookcases lined the 
walls, pretty water-colors hung against the dark- 
red paper above them, an old-fashioned desk stood 
open near one of the windows. The sun streamed 
in, making it look so bright and cheerful that to 
Josephine it seemed extraordinary that the owner of 
such a room could be sad. There must be some very 
deep and secret sorrow, and she wondered what it 
could be. 

“Do you go to school?” she asked, by way of making 
conversation. 

“No, I have a governess. She comes out from 
Boston every day. Are you going to school?” 

“I don’t know. Uncle Will has been intending to 
talk it over ever since we came, but he has not had 
time, or he has forgotten it, or something. At any 
rate, nothing has been decided, and I don’t like to 
ask him.’! 

“Oh, I wish — ” began Lilian, and then stopped. 

69 


JOSEPHINE 


^'What do you wish?” 

‘‘I was going to say I wish you could study with me, 
but of course you would not want to. Miss Wood, my 
governess, is saying all the time that I ought to have 
some one with me, but there is no One in Stockton 
whom I care to ask. The other girls of my age go to 
Boston to school, and, besides, they don't like me. 
But you — oh, how I should love to have you study 
with me! Would you care to? And it would be no 
expense for you. Miss Wood would rather have 
two than one. But I am asking too much. You 
would prefer to go to school. I see it in your face. I 
beg your pardon for having suggested it. Let us talk 
of something else.” 

“Why, how funny you are! Of course I should like 
it. I think it would be perfect. If only Uncle Will 
is willing, and I don't see why he shouldn't be. But 
your father and mother — what will they say?” 

“They won't care.” 

“But you'd better ask them.” 

“Oh no. Mother is too ill to-day, and father is 
always busy. I can't ask him yet. We will tell your 
uncle the plan, and if he approves of it he will arrange 
it. I always leave everything to Dr. Hale. Oh, if I 
thought you would really like it I should be so glad.” 

“Of course I should like it. It would be ever so 
much nicer than going to school with strangers. I 
have been dreadfully afraid I might have to go with 
Violet Blake and Harriet Hoffman.” 

“Do you really mean you would rather be with 
70 


JOSEPHINE 


me than with them? They are — at least Harriet is 
— the most popular girl in Stockton/^ 

don’t care if she is. I would a great deal rather 
study with you.” 

Lilian rose from her seat, hesitated a minute, and 
then she crossed to Josephine’s chair and knelt beside 
it. ^‘1 love you,” she whispered, putting her arms 
around Jo. Then, overcome by an attack of extreme 
shyness, she jumped up and in the coldest manner 
proceeded to show her a book of foreign views. Her 
guest, with ready tact, feigned an interest in them 
that she did not feel. She did not suspect that 
Lilian was overcome with embarrassment at having 
shown so much feeling. She did not yet know the 
girl’s shy and sensitive nature, full of love which 
could find neither outlet nor expression, and which 
had thus far in her short life given her so much un- 
happiness. 

An hour or two later Josephine went home. As 
the girls came down the stairs a gentleman came out 
of one of the rooms and, crossing the hall, entered 
another and closed the door. Although they were 
obliged to wait for him to pass in front of them in the 
hall, he did not look up. His face was dark and 
sombre-looking, his eyes were bent upon the floor. 
He was of medium height, with broad shoulders and 
erect figure, but his massive head was bowed as though 
he were absorbed in intense thought. 

‘‘That is my father,” said Lilian. She had looked 
at him with admiration and longing in her face, and 
71 


JOSEPHINE 


now stood gazing at the closed door. She spoke in a 
whisper. “He is a great lawyer, you know, and he is 
writing a book. He is not usually here at this time. 
I think he must have stayed at home to-day to work 
on the book. I don’t know.” 

Josephine bade her good-bye and walked slowly 
homeward. It all seemed very strange and mysterious. 
What a peculiar man Mr. Thayer must be that he did 
not even glance at his daughter and her friend, and 
what a cold face he had! And why did the shadow 
walk to and fro at night in the upper room? She 
had seen it again last night. Could it- be Mrs. Thayer? 
Perhaps in the course of time Ijilian would tell her. 
She was pleased with the plan of studying with her, 
and she hoped that her uncle would agree to it. She 
wondered what would be decided about Georgie’s 
education. This reminded her that it was now a 
long time since she left her little sister. She looked 
for her out-of-doors and then in the rooms on the first 
floor, calling both her and Chippy. There was no reply. 
Then she went up - stairs. As she approached her 
room she heard sounds of misery. Georgie was crying. 
Josephine ran into the room and found her on the bed. 

“Oh, Jo.” sobbed Georgie, “I thought you’d never 
come. It’s the dough-nuts. Those dreadful dough- 
nuts. I never want to see another one. I was afraid 
to tell Mrs. Sparks, ’cause we stole ’em. Chippy and I, 
and Chippy’s gone off and there was nobody to tell, 
and I feel so sick. But I only ate six. Oh, I’m glad 
you’ve come!” 


72 


VI 


THE TRAIL OP THE SERPENT 





^HEN the family assembled at the lunch- 
( table Georgie was missing. Josephine 
I explained in response to her uncle’s 
^inquiries that the little girl was not 
i feeling very well. 

will go up to see her/’ said the 
doctor. “She seemed very bright at breakfast-time.” 

“I guess she ate too many dough-nuts/’ remarked 
Chippy, who was plying his knife and fork with un- 
abated ardor. “She’s not used to ’em.” 

They all laughed, for he had the manner of one who 
knew whereof he spoke. 

“A New England digestion is necessary for New 
England dough-nuts,” said his father. “Poor little 
Georgie has learned her lesson very soon!” 

He went up to see her, and his cheery little call made 
her feel better. In fact, by five o’clock she had so 
far recovered that she was able to come down-stairs 
and lie on the sofa in the library. There was a blazing 
wood-fire, andjJosephine sat in front of it in one of the 
big, leather-covered chairs. She was reading aloud 
from one of Georgie’s favorite story-books, when 
73 


JOSEPHINE 


Billy came in, followed by Roger. Bromfield went 
directly to the study up-stairs, and Chippy was out-of- 
doors. The cousins had been talking for some time, 
and Billy was recounting for Jo^s benefit some amusing 
story of school-life, when their conversation was in- 
terrupted by piercing shrieks from the upper part of 
the house. They sprang to their feet and hurried out 
of the room. Dr. Hale appeared from his office, fol- 
lowed by a frightened patient, and Brom from the 
study, while Chippy, by great good luck, came in at 
the side door in time to participate in the excitement. 
They all ran up-stairs, almost falling over one an- 
other in their haste. Something very alarming had 
occurred, of that there was no doubt, and the voice 
thus lifted in terror was surely that of Mrs. Sparks. 

‘^Oh! Ohr^ she screamed. ‘‘Help! Murder! Fire! 
Burglars! IPs awful! IPs a sn-a-a-ke!’' The last 
word was prolonged into a doleful wail that was truly 
blood-curdling. 

Brom, Roger, Chippy, and Georgie knew very well 
which one of these four calamities it would prove to 
be, and Roger, his speed increased by his guilty qon- 
science, was the first to reach the side of the prostrate 
housekeeper. She was at the top of the flight of 
stairs, in her agitation kneeling on the upper step, 
while wriggling and darting about in the hall, more 
frightened than she was, Roger’s snake tried in vain 
to escape from the extraordinary predicament in 
which it found itself. Warmed by the heat of the 
house into the delusion that summer had come, the 
74 


JOSEPHINE 


snake, until now half torpid, had discovered the loose 
slat in the box, wended its sinuous way through 
the pile of boots, and by the closet door left ajar by 
Chippy had sought freedom first in the room and then 
in the hall. Unluckily for the snake as well as for 
herself, Mrs. Sparks had come on a tour of investiga- 
tion through the house at precisely the wrong minute. 

“It’s the worst yet!” she cried, refusing to be helped 
to her feet. “ It’s the very worst yet I How do I live 
through such frights?’’ Seeing that Roger had now 
cornered the enemy, she sank still farther down upon 
the stairs and made herself very limp and heavy. 
“If there’s one thing above another that do upset 
me it’s the sight of a serpent. Oh! Oh! Oh!” 

“Take it out-of-doors at once, Roger,” said Dr. 
Hale. “ Do I understand that you have been keeping 
it in your bedroom?” 

“Only in the closet, father, in a very safe box. I 
was going to put it out again in a day or two. It was 
such a good chance to have a pet. I found it in our 
garden. I don’t see how it ever got out.’’ He stood 
holding his pet by the neck. 

“Who else was in the secret?” 

“Only Brom. Not another soul knew anything 
about it.” 

“Really, I think you are both old enough to know 
better,”* said Dr. Hale. “You have frightened Mrs. 
Sparks very badly. Really, Mrs. Sparks, boys will 
be boys, you know. The snake is not a poisonous one, 
as you seem to think. Of course it was very wrong 
75 


JOSEPHINE 


of Roger, and I am sorry, but do try to get over it. 
I will speak of it again, Roger. I must go back to my 
office now.^^ He turned to go down. His patient 
had retreated to a safe distance when the cause of the 
excitement was discovered. Mrs. Sparks, you needn't 
be so alarmed,” he called back. “It is one of the 
harmless kind.” 

“One of the harmless kind!” repeated the house- 
keeper. Considering her weakness of body, her voice 
was remarkably strong and her manner forcible, “As 
if there ever was a harmless snake! It do seem 
strange that I can't walk quietly through a gentle- 
man's house, up a pair of stairs that I've climbed 
many and many's the time in peace and quiet — it do 
seem strange, I say, that I've got to come in contact 
there with serpents and other venomous reptiles. No, 
Billy, you needn't try to smooth things over. And 
as for you, young lady, I'd like to know what you 
find to laugh at.” She turned suddenly upon Jo, 
and renewed indignation gave her strength to rise. 

What are you laughing at? Me?” 

“Oh no. At least, not exactly,” stammered Jose- 
phine. “It seems so funny to be afraid of a snake. 
It is all so funny.” 

“You'll be laughin' on the other side of your mouth 
before long,” said Mrs. Sparks, severely, as she de- 
scended the stairs. “Those that laugh at others in 
their terror and misery will have their own weak 
moments soon.” 

She disappeared from view, and thinking that she 
76 


JOSEPHINE 


was also out of hearing, they gave up all effort to 
control their merriment. But she had paused with 
her hand on the knob of her bedroom door and she 
heard them very distinctly. 

^^So! They’re makin’ merry at my expense!” she 
said, to herself. ^‘That’s all the doin’s of the West- 
erner. They used to play enough tricks, but they never 
laughed at me. The tongue of the wicked is ready 
to mock, and the path of a righteous woman in a house 
of laughter is bordered with thorns. She’ll get paid 
up yet.” 

In the mean time, Roger was inspecting the closet. 
The loose slat, which had obviously been detached 
from the box by means of which the wisest of serpents 
could not have made use, told a tale. Some one had 
been in the closet since Roger left it that morning. 
Further investigation revealed a partly eaten dough- 
nut among the boots, while another had rolled to one 
side. 

‘^Look at these!” said Roger to Bromfield. 
thought at first it might have been the kid, but we 
know who has been eating too many dough-nuts. I 
say, Chip!” 

Chippy, who had discreetly retired to his own room 
during these proceedings, appeared in the doorway. 

Where were you this morning?” 

“Playing with Dick Hoffman,” replied the boy, 
promptly. 

“All the morning?” 

“No, not all.” 


77 


JOSEPHINE 


“What were you doing before you went there?” 

Chippy paused, as if to recall his course of action 
during the day. “I played out awhile. Georgie and 
I were on the side porch.” 

“What was Georgie doing when you left her?” 

“Eating dough-nuts.” 

Brom and Roger exchanged a glance. Then Brom- 
field fixed his penetrating gaze upon his small broth- 
er. “Did you know anything about the snake?” he 
asked. 

“I knew you had a secret,” said Chippy. 

“Did you know what it was?” 

There was a moment^s hesitation. Chippy was 
more afraid of his brothers than one would have 
suspected. They could be very disagreeable, as past 
experience had taught him. If they knew he had 
discovered their secret, that he had meddled, they 
would be in the future more mysterious than ever. 
And then, almost before he knew what he was doing, 
the lie slipped past his lips and was spoken. It only 
required one tiny word of two letters. 

“No,” said Chippy. 

“I thought you didnT,” said Brom. “Of course it 
was Georgie,” he added, turning to Roger. “Every- 
thing points to it. I think we may just as well go 
down now and have it out with her. First we’ll 
take the snake out-of-doors, and then we’ll make her 
confess. Just as likely as not she’ll deny it. Girls 
aren’t as particular as fellows are.” 

“It’s a shame,” grumbled Roger. “If she hadn’t 
78 


JOSEPHINE 


come poking and prying in here we might have kept 
that snake ever so long. It was such fun having it 
hidden. I was going to play it was an escaped prisoner 
of war, and bring it food and have some of the fellows 
up to see it and have a great old time, and now all my 
plans are spoiled.’’ 

They took the “prisoner of war”, down-stairs and 
out-of-doors, and the agitated snake, now thoroughly 
awake, disappeared beneath the bushes which grew be- 
tween the doctor’s stable and the river. It was never 
seen again, but the result of its brief visit to the abode 
of man was of some importance, and almost as dis- 
astrous as the trail of a serpent is popularly supposed 
to be. 

Chippy, meantime, had begun already to suffer 
the pangs of remorse. The moment he had said no 
he wished that he had said yes, but it did not occur 
to him that it was not yet too late. Indeed, had he 
thought of this it is not probable that he would have 
said it. It required great moral courage to unsay a 
lie in the presence of two older brothers, who had 
many means of punishment at their command. In 
the first place, Bromfield would have scorned him. 
Brom’s ideas of truth and honor were very exalted. 
He rarely preached, not being of the “preachy’! kind, 
but Chippy had once heard him express his opinion 
of a certain boy in Stockton who was notoriously 
untruthful. Chippy would not care to have him say 
such things of him. So without realizing that he was 
about to do precisely what Brom would scorn the 
79 


JOSEPHINE 


most, forgetful that honest confession is a long step 
towards honor, and one which requires the moral 
courage that is always admirable, he prepared to 
stick to his no, and in order to make his safety sure 
he sought out Georgie. He did not think the boys 
would be very severe with her, and therefore, as far 
as she was concerned, their suspicions did not trouble 
him. She was a girl and a visitor. They could not 
scold her very much. It would all blow over. But 
it must be impressed upon her that it would not do 
to attempt to draw him into the affair. He felt in 
a measure justified, for he had been perfectly certain 
from the first that Georgie had discovered the secret 
before he himself led her to the closet. How could 
she possibly have guessed it was a snake unless she 
had seen it ? And she had not manifested the slightest 
fear or surprise. She was as guilty as he was, he was 
sure, and he could see no reason why she should not 
bear all the blame. He hurried down-stairs by way 
of the balusters, as usual. He found Georgie alone 
in the library. It was the most excellent opportunity 
that could be imagined. 

^^Georgie,^^ said he, “donT you give it away, will 
you? Remember your promise. Remember, you 
said ^honest Injin' and ^'pon your word and sacred 
honor.' Don't you tell 'em I showed you the snake 
or hit off the slat. Don’t you dare!" He looked 
very threatening. ^^Sh!" he added, sternly, as Jose- 
phine came in. Then, in a loud whisper, “Remem- 
ber!" and disappeared. 


80 


JOSEPHINE 


^^What was Chippy talking about asked Jose- 
phine. “What does he want you to remember?’^ 

But Georgie did not reply. 

When the boys came in their father was with 
Josephine and Georgie, and very soon dinner was 
announced. The matter was not mentioned at the 
table, for Dr. Hale was never willing to reprove the 
boys for any mischief at that time. He was with his 
family so little that he wished their meals together 
to be as pleasant as possible. This Saturday night 
he was called away immediately afterwards, and the 
young people were left to themselves. Jo proposed a 
game, but Billy was going by invitation to spend the 
evening at the Hoffmans’, and Brom’s manner when he 
declined her suggestion was so distant that she said 
no more to the others, but prepared to amuse herself 
and Georgie alone. She knew that something was 
wrong, but she could not imagine what it was. Chippy 
also was peculiar, and followed his brothers closely 
when they went up to the study. 

Josephine felt homesick. She gave the fire a 
vigorous poke, while she wondered what they were all 
doing in Seattle. She had received very few letters 
as yet, but they had been in the East so short a time 
that this was scarcely surprising. What ages it seemed 
since she left home, what years since the death of her 
father! And yet but three months had passed since he 
died and less than three weeks since she bade good-bye 
to the home friends. She felt very lonely to-night. 
If it were not for Georgie she should, indeed, be alone, 
81 


JOSEPHINE 


for the boys did not seem to like her. Billy was nice 
to her because he was so like his father that it was 
easy for him to be kind — it was his nature. She was 
afraid that it was not because he was fond of his 
cousins. The air of hostihty shown by Brom and 
Roger to-night had been very chilling. Jo wished 
that she had some one to whom she could speak and 
of whom she could ask advice. Georgie was too 
young, and, besides, she did not wish to suggest to the 
child that there was any cause for unhappiness. Jo 
knelt before the fire and began to pity herself. It is 
the most depressing thing in the world to do, and 
usually leads to unfortunate results, but she had not 
yet lived long enough to know this. She was quite 
sure that no other girl of her acquaintance had as 
much to bear. Lilian Thayer’s life was peculiar and 
was no doubt sad, but she lived in her own home, 
which was enviable, even though her mother was an 
invalid and her father of so forbidding a nature that she 
seemed to be afraid to speak to him. Some mystery 
hung about the family; but they were so rich, their 
house was so beautiful, and Lilian lived in the home 
and the town of her childhood, and her parents were 
both alive! Surely those advantages must atone for 
what was lacking in her life. And Violet Blake and 
Harriet Hoffman! Jo did not know much about them, 
but they also were rich, and apparently they had all 
that the heart of a modern girl could desire. And 
Harriet was so attractive that Billy had left his cousins 
and gone to spend the evening with her. Jo poked 
82 


JOSEPHINE 


and poked at the fire while these dismal thoughts 
chased one another through her active brain. It was 
a remark of Georgie’s that drove them away. The 
child was curled up in a corner of the sofa watching 
her sister. 

“What makes you so mad at the fire, Jo?’! she 
asked. “It’s burning very nicely.” 

“Is it?” 

“Yes. It’s a nice, cheerful fire, just like Uncle 
Will when he came up to see me to-day, crackly and 
pleasant all over. I wish you wouldn’t spoil it by 
poking.” 

“I won’t do it any more if you don’t want me to.” 
Jo laid aside the tongs, brushed up the hearth, and 
seated herself. 

“ I saw that Mr. Thayer to-day,” continued Georgie. 
“He’s a very dark and mournful man, and Lilian’s 
a very dark and mournful girl, and they live in such a 
dark and mournful house.” 

“It is dark outside but not in.” 

“Perhaps Mr. Thayer is dark outside and not in, 
but I don’t believe so, and I’m glad we didn’t find he 
was our uncle instead of Uncle Will.” 

Josephine had not thought of that possibility before. 
It was, indeed, an escape. 

“Aren’t you very glad you’re nobody but yourself, 
Jo?” 

“I don’t know. I never thought about it.” 

“Oh, I have; I shouldn’t want to be anybody but 
just Georgiana'Hale. I shouldn’t even want to be you, 
1 83 


JOSEPHINE 


although you’re my sister. You know if you were not 
yourself you might be something very dreadful you 
don’t know about now. When you are yourself you 
know just how things are, but if a fairy godmother 
were to come along and give you a wish, and you 
wished you were somebody else, you wouldn’t know 
what you were really going to be, ’cause you can’t see 
the inside of people.” 

Georgiana was quite unconscious that she was 
something of a philosopher, and she also was ignorant 
of the fact that she had by chance said to Josephine 
the most helpful thing that she could possibly have 
said to her at that moment. It is often so. She was 
very much surprised, therefore, when her sister jumped 
up and came to her side. 

“You precious child!” exclaimed Josephine, hugging 
her. “The idea of my ever wanting anything else 
when I have you! And it’s very true. The insides 
of people’s lives are probably very different from 
the outsides. From this day forth Josephine Hale is 
going to be contented with her own inside and not 
envy other people’s. Three cheers for Georgie the 
philosopher!” 

“What is a philosopher, Jo?” 

“A very wise old man.” 

“Why, how funny you are! I’m not that. Let’s 
play a game of old maid.” 

They had just seated themselves and dealt the cards 
when Bromfield and Roger entered the library. The 
boys’ faces were grave, their manner severe. Chippy 
84 


JOSEPHINE 


was not to be seen, and no one knew that he was just 
outside in the hall. Both Josephine and Georgiana 
felt instinctively that something was about to happen. 
The boys seated themselves with a judicial air, and 
Bromfield very pohtely asked the girls to stop their 
game for a few minutes. 

“I am very sorry to interrupt you,’^. he said, ^^but 
there is something important that we must speak to 
you about.” 

Jo felt as if he were at least forty years old and a 
perfect stranger. She had admired Brom from the 
first and had wished very much that they could be 
friends, but all her efforts had been in vain. It was 
perfectly evident that he did not and would not like 
her; he had taken great pains to show his indifference, 
and now his cold, almost disagreeable manner, marked 
real dislike. Josephine’s keenly sensitive nature, 
sensitive alike to sympathy and to antagonism, to 
approval and to censure, suffered acutely. She had 
great self-control at her command, however, and some 
instinct had always taught her not to show how 
intense her emotions were. She laid down the cards 
and turned to Bromfield. Her blue eyes had grown 
very dark and a bright color rose in her cheeks. 

^^What is it?” she asked, quietly. “Is there any- 
thing I can help you in?” 

“Yes, you can help us, perhaps, but it is Georgie 
I want to speak to. Georgie ” — he turned upon her 
suddenly — “did you know anything about Roger’s 
snake before it frightened Mrs. Sparks?” 

85 


JOSEPHINE 


said Georgie. 

Jo looked at her in surprise. '^Why, Georgie! 
Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Georgie was silent. 

Where had you seen it?” continued Bromfield, the 
judge. 

In your room.” 

“In the room or the closet?” 

'“Both.” 

“Then you went prying and poking!” interrupted 
Roger, excitedly. “ If that isn’t just like a girl, always 
trying to find out things!” 

“I didn’t!” — began Georgie. 

At this moment Chippy’s face appeared at the door — 
not his small person, and not even his whole coun- 
tenance, merely his eyes and the top of his head. His 
eyes were very threatening and they fastened them- 
selves upon Georgie. The backs of the other three 
were towards the door and they were quite un- 
conscious that he was there, but Georgie saw him. 
She could hear nothing, but she was convinced that he 
was saying: “Honest Injin!” “ ’Pon your word and 
sacred honor!” “ Remember!’! There was no danger 
of her forgetting. 

“I didn’t pry and poke,” she said, hesitatingly. 
Frightened by Chippy, her manner was not convincing. 

“Then how else could you have found it? You 
went into the closet and hunted round until you found 
the box under the pile of shoes, and then you knocked 
off the slat and let the snake out.” 

86 


JOSEPHINE 


‘‘I didn’t do any such thing,” cried the child. ^^It’s 
real mean for you to say such things.” 

“I think it is,” said Jo. She was trying very hard 
to hold on to her hot temper. The effort to be calm 
made her voice shake. 

“It may be mean, but it’s the truth,” said Bromfield. 
“Georgie herself says she saw the snake in the room 
and the closet. We found some dough-nuts in the 
closet, and everybody knows that Georgie made her- 
self ill to-day eating dough-nuts. I did think at first 
it might have been Chippy, but he said he hadn’t 
been there. He didn’t say a word about you,” Brom 
added, seeing Georgie move suddenly and noticing the 
startled look that came into her eyes when she heard 
this. “Very hkely he knew you were the one when we 
asked him about it, but he didn’t say a word, so you 
needn’t think he gave it away to us. We found the 
dough-nuts and we knew you had been at home alone 
to-day, and you say yourself you were up there. Well, 
I’m glad you acknowledge that. All I want to say 
is that I think it was pretty mean of you to let the 
snake out. It was Roger’s secret, and it’s got him 
into a scrape with father. We haven’t heard the last 
of it yet. As long as you’ve come to live in a house 
with boys, I do wish you’d learn g,s soon as you can 
what’s right and what’s wrong. If you’ve got to 
be here, why, please have some sense of what is 
honorable.” 

The moment he had said the last part of his speech 
Bromfield wished it unsaid. He knew it was un- 
87 


JOSEPHINE 


gentlemanly, to say the least. He was provoked with 
himself for having gone so far. Josephine’s head went 
up with the little gesture that was peculiar to her 
when she was excited. She was very angry. 

“We may have no sense of what is honorable,” she 
said, “and don’t know right from wrong, as you 
imply, but we do know the proper way to treat people. 
If you had come out to see us in Seattle, when we had 
our own home and my father was alive, do you think we 
should have behaved so to you? And even if one of 
you did do some mischief, do you think we should 
have made such a time about it? No, we should 
have treated you like cousins and not like — not like — 
perfectly hateful people. You act as if you couldn’t 
endure us. You have from the first, and yet we have 
to bear it. We can’t go back to our home. We 
were sorry enough to come. You are very different 
from your father. You know you would never have 
dared to say this before him. And I believe my sister. 
She has always been perfectly truthful. She owned 
up to being in the room. She didn’t try to deny it. 
And if you would carry your questions to some of your 
own family you might find out that Georgie was not 
alone this morning.” 

“I have asked Chippy,” replied Bromfield. “I told 
you I asked him first.” 

“And do you believe everything Chippy says?” 

“I have as much right to believe him as you have 
to believe Georgie. There is no use in saying any 
more. Come along, Roger.” 

88 


JOSEPHINE 


think you have said enough,” said Josephine, 
think you are the most disagreeable cousins any- 
body ever had.” 

The boys left the room. When they reached the 
study they found that Chippy was not there. Roger 
went to look for him, and when he came back he 
reported that the kid was in bed, so they could talk 
as they liked. There had been no light in the room, 
and therefore he had not discovered that the kid was 
not only in bed but was also in his boots and all of 
his clothes. 


VII 


LILIAN 

ANT you tell me something about it, 
Georgie?” 

The sisters were in their room and 
Georgie had cast herself upon the bed. 
She was sobbing miserably, and Jo sat 
beside her trying to quiet her. This 
new trouble seemed almost more than could be en- 
dured. She had felt homesick before the boys brought 
their accusations against Georgie, and had roused 
herself only by a great effort from her depression, and 
now matters were worse than before. They had 
said that her little sister was not only inquisitive but 
untruthful. Jo was well aware of the child’s in- 
quiring mind, and thought it was highly probable that 
she had gone on a tour of investigation, but she could 
not bring herself to believe that she would say what 
was not true. Besides, had she not acknowledged that 
she was there? To Josephine it seemed perfectly clear 
that some one else was also concerned in it, and who 
could that other be but Chippy? 

^^Was Chippy with you?” she asked again. She 
had put the question several times, but always with 
90 



JOSEPHINE 


the same result. Georgie rolled over and sobbed more 
violently than ever, but said nothing. 

This had gone on for some time, and Jo was beginning 
to despair of being able to quiet her for the night, 
when there was a tap upon the door. She found that 
it was Bromfield. They stood on either side of the 
threshold, Josephine holding the door partly open. 
He hesitated for a moment. It was hard for him to 
say what he had determined upon. His face grew 
very red, but he looked Josephine straight in the eyes. 

“I want to tell you,’^ said he, “that I had no 
business to speak to you as I did. I was an awful cad 
to do it. You were quite right in what you said. I 
suppose you think we — some of us — are boors. But 
I will tell you honestly that I don’t care much for girls, 
and when I found that Georgie had been doing what 
she did it made me mad — out and out mad — and I 
had to say something. I said too much and I am 
sorry.” 

He turned and left her. Before she could speak he 
was gone. The sound of Georgie’s sobs was in his 
ears, the sight of Josephine’s pale face was not soon 
forgotten, but he told himself that there was nothing 
more for him to do. He had apologized. It was 
now Georgie’s turn to confess. 

When he returned to the study he found that 
Billy had come home and that Roger was giving 
him a history of the events of the evening. Billy, 
who was very tall, was in the Morris chair, his long 
legs stretched out in front of him, his arms behind his 
91 


JOSEPHINE 


head. By common consent the Morris chair was 
Billy's when he was in the room. Roger, who was 
dark and very shght, sat facing him astride of another 
•v chair. 

“What a lot of fuss you fellows make over nothing,'! 
said Billy, as Brom came in. “What earthly dif- 
ference does it make, after all? Who cares whether 
Georgie let the snake out or not?" 

“Why, it makes a lot of difference," said Roger. 
“No one would have known I had the snake if she 
hadn't." 

“Well, as far as I can see, you are the worst of the 
lot. You oughtn't to have had it there in the first 
place. I'm not sorry to have had the felicity of seeing 
Sparky laid low for once, but father didn't hke it. 
And I don't see why you land on that little Georgie 
for it. I haven't the least doubt that the kid is at the 
bottom of it all. You can trust Chippy to get out of a 
scrape when it is possible." 

“But we found the dough-nuts among the boots, 
and Georgie was sick from eating dough-nuts, so of 
course it is easy to see that she was there." 

“Very likely she was, but the dough -nuts don't 
prove it. We all know the kid's capacity for eating, 
and it takes a good deal to upset him, hardened little 
sinner that he is. I think it was pretty hard on the 
girls to have you come down so on Georgie without 
giving her a fair chance. I don't believe you would 
have done it, Brom, if you hadn't such a rooted prej- 
udice against girls. For my part, I hke Jo, and I 
92 


JOSEPHINE 

think the Kttle one is all right, too. Where are they 
now?” 

“Gone to bed. At least they are in their room. 
Georgie is crying and Jo looks miserable.” 

“Have you been there?” 

“Yes.” 

“What on earth did you go for?” 

“Never mind what.” Brom turned his back on his 
brothers and opened a book. 

“He went to apologize,” put in Roger. “I don’t 
think it was worth while, but he seemed to think so.” 

“Well, I’m glad you had the decency,” said Billy. 
He pulled himself up from his chair and sauntered 
towards the door, which had been left slightly open. 
He had been watching the crack, and it had seemed 
to grow larger. Now he opened the door suddenly and 
looked out, but he saw no one. 

“I was sure it was the kid,” he said, returning. 

“Oh, he’s in bed,” said Roger. 

“Is he? You have more confidence in our youngest 
than I have.” 

Sunday passed without further developments. When 
Georgie came down to breakfast she looked pale, but 
it was attributed to her indisposition of the day 
before. Josephine was rather more quiet than was 
usual to her. They all went to church, and the day 
was spent in the usual routine. Mrs. Emlen and 
Beatrice came to see them in the afternoon, and Jo 
would have been glad to tell her about it, but there 
was no opportunity. Dr. Hale had a conversation 
93 


JOSEPHINE 


with Roger in his office, but whether Georgiana’s 
name was brought into it or not Josephine did not 
know. Chippy held himself aloof all day. Oc- 
casionally he reduced Georgie to a state of misery by 
staring at her for several minutes at a time. It is 
never pleasant to be stared at, and when one is con- 
scious that it is done for the purpose of inspiring 
awe and enforcing silence it is still more annoying. 
She clung to Josephine and could not be induced to 
leave her even to play with Beatrice when she came. 
Mrs. Emlen soon discovered that something was amiss. 

^‘How are you getting on, Jo?” she asked, so kindly 
that the girhs eyes filled with tears. 

^^Oh, well enough,” she answered. “I begin to 
study to-morrow with Lilian Thayer, and you know 
Georgie begins to go to school to-morrow. It was 
good of you to arrange to have her go to the little 
private school. Aunt Alice, and Uncle Will is so kind 
to us. It — it makes up for almost everything.” 

“I hope there is not a great deal that needs being 
made up for!” said Mrs. Emlen. ‘^Have you heard 
from home lately?”. 

“Not very lately. It seems a long time since we 
left.”. 

“I wish we could see that nice conductor again,” 
said Georgiana, suddenly. “IVe thought of him over 
and over, and he's one of the very nicest people I 
know. I wish he’d been a cousin.” 

“It is rather strange that he hasn’t acknowledged 
the money Uncle Will sent him,” said Josephine. 

94 


JOSEPHINE 


I hadn’t thought of it before. Uncle Will/’ she added, 
for Dr. Hale came in at that moment, ‘‘did you ever 
hear anything from R. Jackson?’’ 

“From whom? My dear, who is R. Jackson?” 

“The conductor who lent us the money when my 
purse was stolen on the train. You wrote to him and 
returned it the day after we got here. At least you 
said you were going to.” 

The doctor sat looking at her. His eyes were 
puzzled and his face expressed extreme consternation. 
“Jo!” he exclaimed. “Josie! Josephine! I never 
did it!” 

“Oh, Uncle Will!” 

“Will, you are getting more and more absent- 
minded,” laughed Mrs. Emlen. “What shall we do 
with you? It is to be hoped that you don’t forget 
your patients.”. 

“No, I don’t forget anything connected with my 
work, and that is just the trouble. My mind becomes 
so absorbed in all the details, large and small, that 
belong to my work that everything else is shut out. 
But that is no excuse for forgetting to return the 
money the man lent you. What must he think of 
me? And it seems to me you said he knew me.” 

“Yes, he was once in Stockton. He knew who you 
were.” 

“I will go this very minute and write the note and 
enclose a check.” 

It was a very courteous and cordial note, apologizing 
for his delay and thanking Mr. Jackson for his great 
95 


JOSEPHINE 


kindness, and he went out immediately to post it 
himself. 

Josephine was much troubled by the oversight. She 
realized very well how helpless they would have been 
had the conductor not come to their assistance, and 
now it must seem to him that they had not in the 
least appreciated his kindness. While she was think- 
ing about it Mrs. Emlen rose to go. 

^‘You haven’t tried to make any improvements 
here, have you?” she said, looking about the room. 

“Why, no, Aunt Alice. I don’t dare change any- 
thing. What would Mrs. Sparks say?” 

“Let her say all she wants to say. You have a 
perfect right to do what you like within reasonable 
bounds. You are the doctor’s niece and are practically 
living with him, and it is really your duty to give 
the place a feminine touch. You will be doing a great 
deal for the boys in that way. There never was such 
a bare, ugly room as this has grown to be. Your aunt 
Charlotte, the boys’ mother, would have been dis- 
tressed if she had known her parlor would ever grow 
to look as it does. I am not going to help you, for I 
want to see what you can do by yourself. Take your 
courage in both hands, my dear, and pitch in, as the 
boys would say. What do you want to ask me? 
I know something is troubling you.” 

“Yes, several things. You seem to guess every- 
thing, but I can’t tell you now.” 

“Then come and see me soon and tell me every- 
thing,” said Mrs. Emlen, kindly, as she left the house. 

96 


JOSEPHINE 


After Georgie went to bed Josephine stayed up- 
stairs. She was very glad to have an excuse for 
withdrawing from the family circle, and she explained 
it to her uncle by telling him that she wished to write 
some letters. She had been wondering what she could 
do to atone in some manner for her uncle’s forgetful- 
ness in regard to the payment of the loan. She had 
not wished to borrow the money of the conductor 
at the time, and it must seem so strange to him that 
no notice had been taken of it. She determined at 
last to write a note to him herself and try to explain 
their seeming incivility and ingratitude. She com- 
posed several rough copies before she was satisfied, and 
even then the final result did not please her. It 
was so difficult to hit upon a happy mean; they were 
either too stiff or too effusive. This was what she 
finally decided upon: 

“Dear Mr. Jackson, — My uncle is so very sorry that he 
forgot to send you the money you lent us. He is a very 
busy doctor, and, though he intended to write to you the very 
next day, he quite forgot it. I am very sorry about it. You 
were so kind to us, and if you had not lent us that money I 
do not know what we should have done. My sister and I 
thank you very much. Yours truly, 

“Josephine Hale.” 

She added, “I wish I could do something for you 
sometime,” and then she wrote the note over again, 
leaving that out, for it seemed to give it almost too 
friendly a tone to use to a stranger. But as she re- 
membered R. Jaclison he really appeared less of a 
stranger to her than did some of the cousins in whose 
97 


JOSEPHINE 


home she was living, and she wished most sincerely 
that she could some day return his kindness in some 
way. However, it was better to omit it, and the note 
was copied for the last time, addressed and sealed, 
and she posted it the next day when on her way to 
her lessons with Lilian Thayer. 

Lilian had carried out this plan with more enter- 
prise than was usual for her. The lonely girl had 
given her affection to the new-comer with unrestrained 
devotion. She was completely fascinated by Jose- 
phine. Her one desire was to have her for a friend and 
to be her only friend. It was, as a rule, difficult for 
Lilian to meet people half-way. She was apt to 
withdraw into a shell of reserve which it was difficult 
for others to penetrate, but she had cast it aside with 
Josephine. From the first moment she had been 
captivated by her bright manner and apparently in- 
exhaustible good spirits, and by a certain attribute 
which Jo possessed which cannot be described and 
which baffies analysis. She had that personal charm 
which does not depend upon beauty of feature and 
which is distinct from beauty of character. Those 
who have it are often unconscious of it, but it belongs 
to them while life lasts and we call it their lovable 
personality. 

Lilian went to her mother's room one afternoon as 
usual to take the nurse's place for an hour. Mrs. 
Thayer sat by the window in a long, low chair. She had 
once been a very beautiful woman, but, owing to 
illness and anxiety, there were but few traces of it left. 

98 


JOSEPHINE 


Her eyes had a restless, unhappy look, and one could 
plainly see not only that she had suffered both mental 
and bodily pain, but that she had given up the fight 
against them both. She glanced at Lilian when she 
came in, but she scarcely greeted her. Lilian sat 
down opposite to her. 

Mamma,” she said, nervously, want to speak 
to you about something.” 

“Oh, not now,” exclaimed Mrs. Thayer. “If it 
is anything disagreeable I am not equal to it. How 
can you, Lilian, when you must see that this is one 
of my bad days? I had a wretched night.” 

“But it is not disagreeable, mamma. I only want 
to ask your permission.” 

“My permission? Why do you come to me? Ask 
yoim father.” 

She moved her foot impatiently and drummed on 
the arm of her chair with her fingers. Lilian blundered 
on: 

“I thought if I asked you first — ^it is about my 
lessons.” 

“What can I say about your lessons? Surely your 
governess can attend to them. My mind is too full 
of my sorrow to think of your lessons. You are very 
unkind and thoughtless, Lilian.” 

“Oh, I don’t mean to be, dear mamma. It is only 
that I want— if I could have— it— it is nothing very 
much. I should like some one to study with. I am 
so lonely. It would make it so much more interesting, 

and I thought — ” 

8 99 

Lof C. 


JOSEPHINE 


She broke off abruptly. Her mother was crying. 

“How can you speak of being lonely? What am I 
without him? Do please be quiet, Lilian, unless you 
can be more cheerful. Your brother was always 
cheerful.’^ 

“And so is Jo,^^ broke in Lilian. “That is just the 
reason I want to have her. And I am sure you would 
like her. Oh, mamma, do let me tell you about her! 
I don’t mean to make you nervous.” 

“Who is Jo? — a boy?” 

“Oh no. She is Dr. Hale’s niece. They — she and 
her little sister — ^have come from Seattle. Could she 
study with me? Miss Wood would rather have two. 
Would you mind?” 

“Why should I mind? I am not strong enough to 
think about it. Ask your father. And now please 
say no more. You are sure there was no letter to- 
day?” 

“Quite sure, mamma.” 

“It is three weeks since the last.” 

“Yes, I know, but there won’t be another for a 
week yet.” 

“It is all so cruel. Get me the last.” Lilian went 
to her mother’s desk, unlocked it, and took from a 
certain drawer a letter. This she brought to her. 
Mrs. Thayer took it eagerly, kissed it, and read it 
through. Then she gave it back to her daughter. 

“Put it away. I cannot bear it.” 

After this they sat in silence until the nurse returned. 
Lilian then went to her own room, where she sat 
100 


JOSEPHINE 


staring into the fire until dinner was announced. Her 
father opened the library door as she came down-stairs. 

Good-evening, Lilian,” he said. 

^‘Good-evening, papa.” 

They walked into .the dining-room and seated 
themselves at opposite ends of the table. Dinner was 
served with great form and ceremony, but scarcely a 
word was spoken. Mr. Thayer was absorbed in his 
own thoughts as usual, while Lilian, growing more and 
more nervous, was dreading and yet longing for the 
moment when they should be left alone and she could 
ask her father for the desired permission. It was 
almost within her grasp when Mr. Thayer suddenly 
pushed back his chair and rose. 

“You may bring my coffee to the library, James. 
Lilian, I will say good-night. I am very busy.” 

“Oh, papa!” exclaimed she, startled into courage. 
“I do want to ask you something.” 

“Then why have you not done so? We have been 
sitting together for more than half an hour.” 

“I know, but I thought I’d better wait. I didn’t 
like to disturb you.” 

“Then please don’t disturb me now.” And before 
she could speak again he had left the room. She 
ran after him. 

“Papa, may I have Josephine Hale to study with 
me? Would you have any objections?” She won- 
dered afterwards at her own courage. 

“Why should I object? Ask Miss Wood.” The 
hbrary door closed and she was again alone. 

101 


JOSEPHINE 


'^What shall I do all the evening?’^ thought the girl. 
^^And I wonder what they are all doing next door. 
Having a jolly time, I suppose. I am the only one 
who is lonely. I wonder what Jo would say if she 
knew of our troubles. I mean to tell her all about 
them. There never was anybody, I am sure, who had 
as much to bear as I have. I must have her to study 
with me. If Dr. Hale isn’t willing I don’t know what 
I shall do.” 


VIII 


INNOVATIONS 



[UT Dr. Hale did not object. On the 
contrary, it seemed to him an excel- 
lent arrangement, and Jo began the 
following Monday to go next door 
for daily lessons. The routine of 
study was quickly established and it 
seemed to work well. 

Lilian was very happy and quickly showed the 
improvement in her studies which friendly rivalry is 
sure to bring, and Miss Wood, the governess, informed 
Mr. Thayer that the plan of having another pupil was 
very satisfactory. Once a week he summoned her to 
an interview of five minutes’ duration, when with 
admirable precision and in as few words as possible she 
made her report. 

Georgie hked her school and had already made 
friends among the httle pupils, and, as the affair of the 
snake seemed to have blown over, Josephine’s spirits 
reasserted themselves and she began to enjoy her life 
in Stockton. It was Thursday afternoon when she 
determined to act upon Mrs. Emlen’s suggestion and 
see what she could do to improve the appearance of 
103 


JOSEPHINE 


the parlor. She was looking at it rather hopelessly 
when Harriet Hoffman came up the path and rang 
the door-bell. Josephine saw her and opened the 
door herself. 

*H'm glad to see you/^ she said, cordially. 

^^And I am glad to see you,^^ replied Harriet. “I 
have been trying to get here all the week, but there is 
so much going on. I have so many engagements, with 
school and music — I am studying the viohn, you 
know — and the dancing-class every Friday, and a 
thousand other things. What are you doing here with 
the furniture all moved about ?” 

am trying to arrange it better. Aunt Alice says 
I ought to give the house a feminine touch, but I 
don’t know exactly how to begin.” 

“I’ll show you,” exclaimed Harriet, with alacrity, 
pulling off her gloves. “There is nothing I like better 
than arranging a room, and as I have two older sisters 
I don’t have a chance at home. Let’s put the sofa over 
across that corner and the little table here.” 

They rolled the things about, placed the chairs in 
new positions, and then stood by the door and surveyed 
the result. Josephine glanced at the mantel-piece. 
On it was a large, shiny, black clock and two vases 
containing bunches of dried grass. 

“I feel like sweeping all that off,” she whispered. 
“Do you suppose Uncle Will likes it?” 

“I am sure Mrs. Sparks put that dried grass there. 
It looks just like her. Why don’t you sweep it off?” 

“I am afraid she would be furious.” 

104 


JOSEPHINE 


^^What if she is? Let’s get ahead of old Sparky, 
as Billy calls her/’ said Harriet, who was enjoying 
herself thoroughly. She could have all of the fun with 
none of the responsibility. “Clear that all away and 
then we will rout around the house for something to 
put there instead. Aren’t there any pictures?” 

So the grass was burned in the library fire, some 
framed photographs were found for the mantel-piece, a 
lamp was carried in and placed upon one of the tables, 
and books from the shelves in the library, which they 
gathereid at random save for the excellence of their 
binding, were piled in irregular heaps about the lamp. 

“There!” cried Harriet, ecstatically; “nothing could 
be better. Now if you would get your work and seat 
yourself by the lighted lamp you would present a 
picture of domestic calm that would be very fetching. 
How I should like to see the boys when they come in 
and see it! I suppose I ought to be going now; it 
is almost five o’clock.” 

“Oh, don’t go,” said Josephine, hospitably. “Sit 
down and rest. We have been working so hard we 
haven’t had a chance to talk.” 

Harriet required no urging, and they had just seated 
themselves when Lilian Thayer came in. A peculiar 
expression passed over her face when she saw Harriet. 
She would not sit down, but declared that she had only 
run in for a moment to speak about one of their 
lessons. Her manner was so odd that Josephine, after 
the first, did not urge her to stay. 

“Don’t you think we have improved the room?” 

105 


JOSEPHINE 

she said. ^'Harriet and I have been working over it 
for an hour.^^ 

^^Have you?’^ said Lilian, more coldly than ever. 
Then she left them. 

^^What a queer girl she is!” said Harriet, when 
Josephine returned from the front door. donT 
see how you get on with her at all. Is she like that 
when you are studying together?” 

^‘Not a bit. I can’t imagine what the trouble is.” 

“1 know. She didn’t like my being here. She 
hates me. Jack was engaged to my sister, you know, 
before the trouble. Of course, Mabel broke it off. 
You know about the trouble, don’t you?” 

^^No, I don’t. I have wondered what it was and 
have been meaning to ask Uncle Will or Aunt Alice, 
but I have not had a chance. I didn’t like to ask 
before Georgie or any of the boys.” 

‘^The boys know all about it. Everybody does in 
Stockton.” 

^^The brother is dead, I suppose.” 

^^Dead! No, indeed. It would really be better if 
he were.” 

And then before she could say anything more the 
boys came into the house, and Billy, hearing voices in 
the parlor, appeared at the door. 

Great Scott!” he exclaimed, and then was silent. 
He turned his head from side to side, he looked in- 
quiringly from one girl to the other, and went through 
a pantomime of exaggerated astonishment. 

Where am I?” said he, at last. ^^Methought I 
106 


JOSEPHINE 


entered mine own doors, but I behold no longer the 
old, familiar landmarks standing on the identical spots 
they have occupied for the last century.” 

“Landmarks don’t stand on spots,’! laughed Jose- 
phine. 

“And what elegance of language you have acquired 
since we last met,” said Harriet. “Going in on the 
train this morning you were so slangy that even I 
could scarcely follow you, and now you seem to be 
^ early English.’” 

“I’ve been dwelling with the poets in the literature 
class this afternoon. But what under the canopy 
have you two girls been doing here?” 

“Just what you see,’! said Josephine. “How do 
you like it?’! 

Billy gave another prolonged stare. “It’s bully,” 
said he. 

“Is that early English?” 

“Early Enghsh is incapable of expressing my 
admiration. Only the latest American will do it. 
I really feel like sitting down and making myself at 
home. I never could bear the room before. Jo, what 
have you done with the dried grass ?” 

“Burned it.” 

Billy chuckled gleefully. “You’re in for it. You 
might have burned the clock or the chairs. You 
might even have burned the house down and escaped 
with a modest scolding, but that dried grass was the 
primeval fruit of Sparky’s organ of vision — in other 
words, the apple of her eye. She put it there three 
107 


JOSEPHINE 


months ago, and she made us all look at it and promise 
to be careful, and I’ve been so particular I haven’t 
even crossed the threshold since for fear my plaintive 
sighs might blow it over. Oh, you’ve been and gone 
and done it this time!” And he laughed loud and 
long. 

Josephine’s face expressed so much consternation 
that Harriet joined in the laugh. 

^^What shall I do?” exclaimed Jo. “I thought 
when I first got here that I wasn’t going to be afraid 
of her, but I am. You can’t help it, somehow, and 
she hates me already.” 

“Don’t say you burned it,” advised Harriet. “Pre- 
t^^' you’ve put it away somewhere. Mislaid it, but 
It is ku*e to turn up.” 

■ ^‘Oh, I can’t.” 

, ‘^Well, I’m glad you did it,” said Billy. “And the 
room looks a hundred per cent, better. I’ll sit with 
you here some evening, Jo.” 

“Oh, will you! When you spend an evening here 
with me I shall think something is going to happen or 
is happening.” 

Harriet laughed. “Why, Billy! And you come 
to our house so much! I suppose I can’t expect you 
to-night as it isn’t Saturday, but I am going home 
now. How dark it is! Dear me! It is awfully poky 
going down our avenue. I ought not to have stayed 
so late.” 

“ I’ll walk home with you,” said Billy. 

-“Oh, will you? How good of you! Good-bye, Jo. 

108 


JOSEPHINE 

I hope Sparky won’t take your head off. Don’t tell 
her.” 

They went out and left Josephine alone. She 
turned down a lamp which seemed to be smoking and 
moved one or two books. do hate people who 
hint,” she said to herself, rather viciously. “I would 
rather ask a boy right out to walk home with me if I 
were afraid to go alone. I don’t beheve she was a 
bit afraid. She is very fascinating and I like her, 
but she always does something like that.” 

Her meditations were interrupted by her uncle and 
the boys, who came in together. Dr. Hale and Roger 
admired the improved appearance of the room, 
Bromfield gave a hasty glance and went up-stairs, and 
Chippy investigated carefully. 

“Where’s that dead grass?” he asked, presently. 

“Gone,” replied Jo, with caution. 

“I’m glad it is,” said Dr. Hale, in a whisper. “I 
always hated it, but I never liked to say so.” 

“Jiminy! Won’t Mrs. Sparks scold!” cried Chippy, 
joyously. 

Nothing developed that night, however, for the 
housekeeper was enjoying an afternoon and evening 
with a friend, and, as the waitress was too sleepy to 
describe to her upon her return the wonderful trans- 
formation of the parlor, she went to her room in 
unsuspecting ignorance. 

When Josephine awoke the next morning it was 
raining. A cold, northeast wind hurled the drops 
against the windows and bent the leafless branches 
109 


JOSEPHINE 


of the old Stockton elms. The weather did not look 
promising for the following day, when the football 
game was to be played on Soldiers^ Field, and the 
boys were full of gloom in consequence. All of the 
family except Georgie were to go, and Josephine had 
been looking eagerly forward to something which, 
from all that she heard, must be unlike anything that 
she had yet seen in her short life. Georgie was to 
spend the day with Beatrice Emlen, but Mr. and Mrs. 
Emlen were going with the Hales, and also Lilian 
Thayer. 

When Jo came down-stairs Friday morning she 
paused a moment in the hall to look into one of her 
books before going in to breakfast. The door into 
the dining-room was open, but she stood in such a 
position that she could not be seen from the room, and 
Billy and Brom, not having heard her come down, were 
unconscious that she was there. 

^Ht spoils it all,” said Bromfield. 

^‘1 don't see why you think so,”, replied Billy. 
“Pass me the cream, Brom.” 

“I'd a great deal rather sit somewhere else, but 
father won't listen to it. The idea of our having 
two girls tagging along with our party!” 

“Don't be an idiot. You're not obliged to have 
anything to do with them.” 

“Yes, I am. Father gave me a regular talking-to 
last night. Said having girls here was a good op- 
portunity for me to improve my manners. He 
thought I was rude to Jo.” 

110 


JOSEPHINE 


“Well, you are.’/ 

“I can’t help it. I don’t like her.” 

“Do shut up. She may come in any minute.” 

Josephine, without intending to listen, had heard 
every word. Now she laid her book softly down and 
crept into the parlor. Her cheeks were burning and 
her eyes full of hot, blinding tears. She had suspected 
that Brom did not like her; now she knew it. She had 
heard it from his own lips. What could have been 
plainer? 

“It makes me feel awfully,’’ she thought. “I don’t 
see what I have done to make him dislike me so. 
He doesn’t want me to go to-morrow. I wish I needn’t, 
but Uncle Will would think it strange if I gave it up; 
and Lilian is going. What shall I do? I wish we 
had never come.” 

She was standing by the mantel-piece, looking 
drearily into the empty fireplace, when some one 
entered the room behind her. Turning at the sound, 
she saw Mrs. Sparks. The housekeeper stood in the 
doorway, her hands tightly clasped above her white 
apron. The large spectacles caught the light from 
the windows and gleamed fiercely as their wearer 
turned her head from side to side. 

“Well !” said she. 

Jo felt that her hour had come. Instinctively she 
straightened herself. She thought of the grass, and 
hoped that its absence might not yet be discovered 
if she remained where she was with her back to the 
mantel-piece. 


Ill 


JOSEPHINE 


want to know — exclaimed Mrs. Sparks. Then, 
after another pause, thought you said you’d make 
no changes?” 

‘‘Mrs. Emlen thought this would be a good idea, 
and my uncle hkes it.” 

“It is just what I expected all along. I knew it. 
The hand of the interloper is bound to meddle and the 
fingers of a prying person will not be kep’ out.” 

“Really, Mrs. Sparks, I’m not a prying person. I 
must go to breakfast.” Forgetting the missing grass, 
she moved towards the door. 

“Where’s my grasses?” demanded the housekeeper. 

“I’m sorry, but I burned them. I didn’t know they 
were yours.” 

“Burned ’em! Burned ’em! The grasses I pre- 
served with such care and which the boys have treated 
with the greatest consideration! I knew when I heard 
you was cornin’ there’d be trouble, and here it is. And 
me in the midst of the mince for Thanksgiving pies, 
too! Oh, it is a shame!” 

“I’m sure I wish with all my heart we hadn’t come,”, 
cried Josephine. “Nobody seems to want us. I’m 
sorry I burned your old grass. I didn’t know it 
was really yours. I thought when I did it that it 
belonged to Uncle Will. Let me pass, please.’’ 

She went into the dining-room. The family were all 
at the table. She said good-morning in a low voice 
and seated herself without looking at any one. 

“I wondered where you were,” said her uncle. He 
glanced at her flushed face, but made no comment. 

112 


JOSEPHINE 


^‘What’s the matter, Jo?” asked Billy. “Have 
you met Sparky yet?” 

“Be careful, Billy,” said his father. “Mrs. Sparks.” 

“But have you, Jo?” 

“Yes,” said Jo, shortly. 

The episode with Mrs. Sparks, however, seemed but 
a small matter compared with Bromfield’s dislike. 
He, having finished his breakfast, now left the room, 
and Josephine felt a certain relief, but she said nothing, 
in spite of Billy’s efforts to make her talk. She was 
more angry than hurt, and she made up her mind to 
have a plain conversation with her uncle as soon as 
possible and ask him to send them back to Seattle. 
She knew it would grieve him, but it must be done. 
She could not stay where she was so disliked. In her 
anger and mortification she exaggerated Bromfield’s 
meaning. To be sure, it had sounded very unkind, 
but it was not real dislike for her in particular that had 
prompted the boy to say what he did, and, of course, 
he had no idea that she was near. He disliked girls 
in general, or he thought he did, and, like Mrs. Sparks, 
he was so averse to any change in their habits of life 
that he was unjust to the seeming cause of these 
changes. He did not dream that Jo had heard him. 
He was a kind-hearted boy beneath his rather rough 
exterior. There were great possibilities in Bromfield’s 
nature. He would grow to be a man of strong and 
decided character, of that there was no doubt, but 
what direction his decision of character would take 
depended largely upon the influences to which it might 
113 


JOSEPHINE 


be exposed during the next few years. It was the 
knowledge of this which made Dr. Hale feel sure that 
the presence of Josephine in the household would be 
good for Bromfield, and he was ignorant of the extent 
to which the ill-feeling between them had developed. 

At a quarter of nine a whistle blew sharply. It 
sounded twice two and then ceased. Chippy gave a 
loud whoop of joy. 

^‘Is it a fire?” asked Josephine. She was putting 
on her hat and coat in the hall and helping Georgie 
make ready to go out. 

^^No, not much. No fire. It^s no school. Three 
cheers!”. 

^^Why, what do you mean? Why shouldn’t there 
be school?’’ 

’Cause it’s such a bad storm. Don’t you know 
that much?”- 

Why don’t you explain it to your cousin, Chippy?’’ 
said Dr. Hale, who was about to start on his morning’s 
round of visits. It is a New England custom, Jo, in 
the public schools. In very bad weather we don’t let 
the children go, and the fire alarm is blown ‘ two-two ’ 
to give notice. If the weather improves during the day 
there will be another signal at noon to say that there 
will be an afternoon session. I think you’d better 
let Georgie stay at home this morning, too. Very 
likely her little school will not be open. By all means 
keep her at home.” 

He went out of the door as he spoke and was gone 
before Josephine had time to reply. She was doubtful 
114 


JOSEPHINE 


about the wisdom of this plan. She thought it would 
not hurt Georgie to go out, but it would not do to 
disobey her uncle. Besides, he had said that probably 
her school would also be closed. He had not men- 
tioned herself, so she supposed she was to go to the 
Thayers' as usual. As it was such a short walk she 
should not get very wet. It was not because of the 
weather that she hesitated, but because she was 
almost afraid to leave Georgiana and Chippy alone 
together. It was Friday, too, a day when Mrs. Sparks 
was always “on the war-path," baking, cleaning, 
doing all sorts of things which seemed to be especially 
trying to her, to judge by other Fridays, and it was a 
rainy day besides. Then, too, she was preparing for 
Thanksgiving, and she had already given evidence that 
her temper was not of the best that morning. How- 
ever, there seemed to be nothing to do but to go. 
Josephine took Georgie aside and begged her to be 
good and to be very careful. 

“Don't get into any mischief to-day, will you, 
Georgie?" she implored her. 

“I don't know what you mean, Jo," replied the 
child, with an injured air. “You act as if I was only 
about five years old. I'm going to play school up in 
our room all by myself. I'm not going to play with 
Chippy. He's real mean about something — I can't tell 
you what — and I'm never going to have anything to 
do with him as long as I live." 

This dreadful threat rather reheved Jo's mind, 
although at the same time she wished that there had 
9 115 


JOSEPHINE 


been no quarrel, for Chippy had been very disagreeable 
since last Saturday, while Brom and Roger had main- 
tained absolute silence with Georgie. But there was 
no time to think about that now, and, with another 
admonition for her little sister, she went out into the 
storm. 


IX 


THE DIVERSIONS OF CHIPPY 





>T was an hour later. Chippy was alone 
in the boys’ study, and time had begun 
to hang heavy on his hands. It was 
only within the last year or two that 
the youngest member of the family 
had been left so much to his own 
devices. His nurse, Mary Ann, had lived with the 
Hales since he was a baby, but she had been unwilling 
to submit any longer to the rule of Mrs. Sparks, and, 
as a nurse was no longer necessary, while a house- 
keeper was of extreme importance, Mary Ann had 
retired from the field and left it to the undisputed 
sway of her rival. This was not regretted by the 
doctor and Mrs. Emlen, for Mary Ann, though a 
faithful creature, had been the slave of Chippy and 
had yielded to his every whim; but there was no 
danger of this indulgence from the austere Sparks. 
Her rod of iron could make itself felt upon the smallest 
provocation. 

Chippy, then, was alone in the study. He had 
finished the thrilling story which had been absorbing 
all his spare time for two days, and now he felt the 
117 



JOSEPHINE 


reaction that invariably sets in when we come back 
from the enchanted realms of an interesting book 
to the prosaic realities of our own every-day life. 
He wondered what he could do. There was no big 
game to be killed, no desert to be traversed, no Indians 
to be discovered and routed as in the book. Existence 
in Stockton was unutterably dull. In the West now — 
How could his cousins have made up their minds to 
leave the fascinating West, where cow-boys could be 
met at every corner and buffaloes were as plentiful as 
automobiles in Massachusetts? If the girls had really 
been boys, as had been supposed, he was sure they 
would not have come. He wished they had been boys. 
If Georgie had been a boy and had come and was in 
the house that morning, they could have had some fun. 
A girl was of no earthly use. No use whatever. He 
wondered what she was doing. Playing dolls, he 
supposed. She had been rather nice about not 
‘Helling on” him. She deserved some small reward. 
He would bestow some token of recognition upon her 
and at the same time amuse himself. He felt still 
a little uneasy about the part he had played in the 
affair of the snake. After all, he had told a lie and 
had allowed a girl to take all the blame. She deserved 
it, for he knew she had been there before him, but 
still — 

When his meditations reached this point, as they 
had done before this. Chippy invariably became un- 
comfortable. He jumped up, and after a moment’s 
hesitation he went to his cousins’ room and knocked 
118 


JOSEPHINE 


on the door. There was no answer, and as he listened 
he heard sounds of conversation within. It seemed 
to be all in Georgie’s voice, and he became consumed 
with curiosity to know what she was doing. He 
knocked more boldly, and this time his cousin heard 
him. She came to the door and opened it, but, seeing 
who it was, she closed it quickly and locked it. Chippy 
distinctly heard her slip the bolt. Was there ever 
anything so astounding? Then her conversation 
began as before. 

This seclusion on her part simply could not be 
endured, and Chippy cast about in his mind for a 
means of breaking in upon it. He first tried persuasion. 

“Georgie,” he said, with his mouth at the key-hole, 
won’t you please let me come in? It’s awful stupid 
in the house. I know a jolly old game we could 
play." 

There was no answer. 

^‘I’ll let you choose the game. If you want to play 
house I’ll let you, and you can be the mother.” 

This was a matter over which there had been 
trouble in the past, and Chippy considered it a hand- 
some offer on his part. He was confident that it 
would succeed, but he was doomed to disappointment. 
Georgie’s voice paused for a moment and then con- 
tinued. What could she be talking about? It now 
occurred to him that a bribe might be accepted. 

“I say, Georgie!” His tones were very beguiling. 
“If you’ll open the door I’ll take you coasting the 
very first minute there’s any snow.” 

119 


JOSEPHINE 


This thought suggested itself because Chippy had 
been lamenting that to-day’s rain had not been snow, 
but, there being no sign of coasting at present, the 
offer presented no attractions to his cousin. After a 
few moments of silent suspense something else occurred 
to him. 

‘^Oh, Georgie! I smell gingerbread. Mrs. Sparks 
is making it. I’ll get you some if you’ll let me in.” 

This provoked a reply. 

“I don’t want any old gingerbread. You were real 
mean the time we had dough-nuts, and you — ” 

‘^Georgie,” cried Chippy, interrupting her pursuit of 
painful memories, ^‘if you’ll let me play with you 
I!ll go get some lemon sticks as soon as it stops raining. 
I’ll get them at the drug store. You know they’ve 
got ’em nicer there than anywhere. I’ve got five 
cents father gave me, and you can have four sticks. 
I’ll only keep one.” 

It was a form of sweetie to which she was especially 
partial, and four to one was a tempting proposal. 
Her voice was not quite so firm when she answered, 
but still the reply was no. 

Then Chippy retired from the scene, disturbed but 
b}’’ no means defeated. He would get there yet. 
Georgie had no doubt forgotten the door in her closet 
which connected it with Billy’s room; perhaps she 
did not even know that it was there. It was kept 
locked and the key was one of a bunch in the possession 
of Mrs. Sparks. This bunch, when not in use, always 
hung in a certain place in her room, each key bearing 
120 


JOSEPHINE 


a label telling to which door it belonged. If he could 
unlock the closet door it would be an easy matter to 
appear suddenly in Georgie’s presence. It all de- 
pended upon finding the key. 

He found the key, and he discovered something 
else at the same time. After all, life in Stockton was 
not so dull as he had considered it to be a half-hour 
ago. There were no cow-boys, to be sure, but there 
were compensations. 

When Mrs. Sparks came in the night before she had 
omitted to put away her best black silk dress, her 
bonnet, and various other articles of finery which she 
wore when visiting. She had not only left them out 
all night, but she had neglected them that morning. 
She had intended coming up-stairs immediately after 
breakfast, but the sight of the parlor and her con- 
versation with Josephine in regard to the grasses had 
put everything out of her mind, and she had for- 
gotten completely that her best clothes were lying on 
the chair in her room exposed to any stray particles 
of dust which had escaped her vigilant eye — ex- 
posed also to the mercies of Chippy, had' she but 
known it. 

He found the desired key, and, while executing a 
brief dance of triumph, his glance fell upon the gar- 
ments. A few minutes later his small form was 
encased in the waist with balloon sleeves, the black 
velvet bonnet trimmed with jet was upon his short, 
yellow hair, and a black dotted veil, its owner’s chief 
treasure, was tied tightly about his rosy cheeks, 
121 


JOSEPHINE. 


flattening his nose while at the same time the veiFs 
strength was tried to its utmost limit. He attempted 
no skirt, for past experience in dressing-up had taught 
him that a skirt was always in a fellow’s way, so his 
trousered legs in their tan-colored stockings emerged 
with startling effect from the black silk bodice. Mrs. 
Sparks’s b^st gloves were carried in one hand and the 
key of the closet in the other, and thus equipped 
Chippy left the room. As it was situated in the third 
story ell, it was necessary to go down-stairs to Billy’s 
room. This was accomplished in safety, and in a 
very short time the door in the closet was quietly 
unlocked and Chippy had stepped through into that 
which belonged to his cousins. Its door into their 
room was ajar, and he could both see Georgie and 
could hear what she was saying. She was playing 
school, the pupils being dolls and pillows tied up 
into a semblance of dolls. They were placed in a row, 
and Georgiana with a book in her hand was hearing 
their lessons. Chippy paused until a fitting moment 
for his entrance seemed to have come. 

am expecting your mother,” said Georgiana, to 
one of the pillows. ^Ht is visiting-day for parents, 
you know, and I shall certainly tell her how inattentive 
you’ve been.” 

^‘And here I am,” said Chippy, stepping out of the 
closet. “I’m the mother and I’ve come to hear them 
say their poetry.” 

“Oh!” cried Georgie. “Where did you come from? 
The door’s locked. Oh, Chippy, how funny you look!” 

122 


JOSEPHINE 


She broke into peals of laughter. There was no doubt 
of her appreciation of his costume. 

“Of course I do,” replied her visitor, complacently. 
“I came through the closet and I’m going to play 
with you.” 

It certainly would be fun. Georgiana was tired of 
playing alone, and, besides, here he was. Jo herself 
could not have helped it. 

“Oh, goody me!” cried Georgie. “What will Mrs. 
Sparks say? You’ve got on her things.” 

“Who cares?” was the bold answer. “Come, let’s 
begin.” 

Here he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He 
certainly looked very funny, and he grinned broadly 
at the vision. This smile so distended his chubby 
cheeks that the stretched and weakened veil burst 
asunder right in the middle and his nose popped 
through the slit. Both children roared with laughter, 
and then the remnants of dotted net were tucked 
away under the bonnet, Georgie assisting in the 
operation in a friendly way, and the play began. 
Past differences of opinion were forgotten and perfect 
harmony reigned in their stead. 

When Josephine entered the house next door she 
was somewhat surprised to find that Lilian did not 
meet her as usual in the hall. She took off her hat and 
rain-coat and went up-stairs to the room in which they 
were accustomed to have their lessons, and, as there 
was no one there, she sat down and opened her books. 

123 


JOSEPHINE 


A half-hour passed away and still no one appeared. 
Miss Wood always arrived from Boston by a train 
which reached Stockton before nine o’clock, and 
Josephine could not understand why neither she nor 
Lilian was to be seen. Finally she determined to go 
in search of IJlian. It did not take long to find her, 
for she was in her room, and when Josephine knocked 
she opened the door. 

“Why don’t you come to lessons?” asked Josephine. 
“And where is Miss Wood? Do you know that it is 
long after nine? Why, Lilian, what is the matter?” 

It was evident that Lilian had been crying. Al- 
though her face was now calm, her manner was 
peculiar, and she did not welcome her friend with her 
usual cordiality nor did she ask her to come in. She 
merely stood in the doorway and looked at her coldly. 

“Miss Wood isn’t coming to-day,” she replied. 
“She has a bad cold and telephoned a little while ago. 
She said she tried to come but it is too wet.” 

“Oh, why didn’t you telephone to me, then? I 
didn’t want to leave Georgie and Chippy alone to- 
gether, and I wouldn’t have come in.” 

“Yes, just as I thought,” said Lilian. “You are 
glad of any excuse not to come.” 

“I don’t know what you mean by that nor what the 
matter is with you, but I must go right back if there 
is to be no school.” 

“Oh, very well.” And Josephine found the door 
quietly closed in her face. 

She ran down-stairs and began to put on her over- 
124 


JOSEPHINE 


shoes. “I do think everybody is very queer this 
morning,” she said to herself. ‘‘Lilian is very rude 
and very provoking. She might have telephoned. 
I wonder if she didn’t because she wanted to see me 
for something. I remember now that she was rather 
queer last night when Harriet was there. Perhaps she 
came to see me alone. I will go back and ask her. 
After all, the children probably won’t get into any 
mischief yet, for I think Chippy has a book that will 
keep him quiet.” 

She went up-stairs again and knocked on Lilian’s 
door. Hearing no response she opened it. 

“Lilian, may I come in?” she asked. “I suppose I 
can leave the children a httle while longer as long 
as I was going to stay for lessons, and I am afraid 
something is troubling you. Oh, dear, what is 
it?” 

Lilian had thrown herself on the lounge and was 
crying as if her heart were broken. Jo went to her 
and knelt beside her. 

“My dear, do tell me what the trouble is! Is your 
mother worse? There, dear, never mind. I’ll stay 
as long as you want me to, and, when you are able 
to, you will tell me.” She patted her softly with 
her hand and smoothed her hair, and presently Lilian 
grew more quiet. 

“Do you really care anything for me?” she whis- 
pered. 

“ Why, of course I do. You must know that without 
my telling you.” 


125 


JOSEPHINE 


‘^But I want you to tell me. I want you to say 
that you love me better than any one else.’^ 

‘^Oh, Lilian, how can I say that? Better than 
Georgie, and my sisters at home? And Uncle Will, 
who is my dear father’s brother?” 

“Oh, not more than your family, of course, but than 
your other friends.” 

“But I have no other friends — ^here, at any rate.” 
Jo felt growing within her a certain obstinacy. She 
wondered if Lilian’s grief and excitement had had 
no more reasonable foundation than this. Her own 
nature was so different that it was impossible for her 
to comprehend in others the desire to monopolize, to 
be the only one. 

“Oh yes, you have,” said Lilian. “You seem to 
be getting very intimate with Harriet Hoffman. 
When I went in to see you yesterday afternoon you 
would scarcely speak to me.” 

“Why, you would scarcely speak to me ! You didn’t 
say a word about the way we had arranged the parlor, 
and you hurried away without sitting down.” 

“I knew that I wasn’t wanted. I can always feel 
those things.” 

“Then you don’t always feel what is true,” replied 
Josephine, rather hotly. “I was glad to see you and 
was disappointed because you did not stay. I never 
thought of anything different.” 

“You didn’t ask me to arrange the parlor. You 
asked Harriet to come do it.” 

“No, I didn’t. She came to see me while I was in 
126 


JOSEPHINE 


the midst of it. I never thought of it when I was here 
in the morning, and it didn’t occur to me in the after- 
noon to send for you to come in and move furniture 
about. Dear me! Is that all you have had to trouble 
you? I thought it was something really serious.” 

“It isn’t the only thing,” said Lilian. “It is only 
added to everything else. You don’t reahze how I 
feel about you, Jo.” She was sitting up now, with 
red eyes and her handkerchief rolled into a ball in her 
hand. “I never knew there could be anybody like 
you until you came into my hfe. Even though it was 
so short a time ago it seems as if I had always known 
you. I have very few friends. It is so hard for me to 
go with other girls or to be like them. My home life 
is so different from every one’s, and then the trouble 
about Jack. Since that I have felt shyer and queerer 
than ever. It grows harder and harder for me to 
speak to any one. Even though people don’t believe 
he really did wrong, they know about the trouble with 
my father, and they pity me, and I hate that. You 
know I have no one to talk to about things, with 
mamma so ill. And you came, and you were so sweet 
to me, and you are so bright and cheery, and you 
seemed to hke me. Our lessons together have been so 
perfect, but now you are getting to know Harriet so 
well and — and — ” 

“ You silly child,” said Jo, soothingly. “You mustn’t 
think such things. You know it won’t be much of a 
friendship if you are going to doubt me all the time. 
I should think you might have more faith in me, and 
127 


JOSEPHINE 


it doesn^t seem as if you could possibly want me to 
be disagreeable to everybody but yon” She laughed 
as she spoke. 

Lilian smiled rather dismally. know I have a 
horrid, jealous disposition/^ she sighed. ^Hdl try to 
be different. I’m willing not to be the first with 
mamma, because it is onty natural that she should care 
more for Jack than for me, but with you I do want to 
be the dearest of your friends.” 

“Can’t you tell me about your brother, Lilian?” 
asked Jo. She thought it might be a good plan to 
divert the girl’s mind from her grievance. “You 
know you said you would sometime. I haven’t the 
least idea what the trouble about him is, for no one 
has told me.” 

“Has no one ever told you? I thought, of course, 
you knew.” 

“No, I thought he must have died, but I was told 
he is still living. That is about all I have heard.’! 

“Oh, he is alive! I couldn’t bear it if he were to 
die. He is my only brother, Jo. My only precious 
brother. He was always so sweet and dear to me 
when he was at home.” 

“And how long has he been gone?” 

“It is just a year,” said Lihan, very sadly. “It is a 
whole year since that dreadful day. Sometimes it 
seems as if it must have happened a century ago, for 
I have missed him so terribly. It happened this way. 
There was some trouble in town in the office. Jack 
held a very good position. He didn’t wish to study 
128 


JOSEPHINE 


a profession, so when he graduated my father got him 
a position in one of the big companies. It was a great 
disappointment to papa that he didn’t want to be a 
lawyer like him, but Jack doesn’t care for the law 
and hadn’t a bit of talent for it. He wanted to go into 
business. That was the first trouble, or, rather, it came 
on top of college troubles. Papa never could under- 
stand Jack in any way, they are so totally unhke, and 
Jack used up a lot of money while he was in college. 
Not on himself at all, but helping other fellows. He 
is very generous and easy-going, and he often allowed 
it to be thought he was in the scrapes some of his 
friends got into when he wasn’t at all. We heard this 
after he went away, from one of his friends who came 
to see my father and mother.” 

Lilian paused a moment and dropped her head into 
the sofa cushions. Jo squeezed her hand sympathet- 
ically and very soon she continued her story, although 
with visible effort. 

^'Well, he was in this office in town for two years, 
and then it was found that something was wrong with 
the accounts. Money was missing — Oh, I didn’t 
understand it all, and I can’t bear to speak of it or even 
think of it, but they suspected Jack of doing some- 
thing awful. He was accused of it, and he declared he 
hadn’t done it. If you could see him you would know 
he couldn’t do anything really wrong, but, Jo, my father 
believed he had done it. Several men in the com- 
pany didn’t believe it; they stood by him, but papa — 
Oh, it was terrible! but you see there had been trouble 
129 


JOSEPHINE 


about money when he was in college, and papa is very 
peculiar. He is very proud and cold. Jack is proud, 
too, and it maddened him to think his own father 
didn’t trust him. Then he was engaged to Mabel 
Hoffman, and Mabel broke it off. She didn’t trust him 
either. Every one said it was a good thing for Jack 
that she did, for she is such a conceited, vain sort of a 
girl; but you know how pretty she is — really beautiful 
— aud Jack was perfectly devoted to her, so it was 
awfully hard for him. Mamma never believed he had 
done anything wrong and neither did I, and most of his 
friends stood by him, too. Katherine Blake, Violet’s 
sister, was always a great friend of his, and she stood 
by him through everything. I have always loved 
Katherine for the determined stand she took then. 
And then afterwards it was proved that he hadn’t done 
it and that some one else was guilty whom Jack had 
known about all the time.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed' Josephine. “How perfectly 
splendid he must be! How proud you must have been 
of him, Lilian! Even if you can’t have him with you 
now you must take a great deal of comfort in thinking 
about that.” 

“Yes, I do. When it was discovered that some one 
else did it, of course papa was awfully upset and 
would have done an5dhing to make amends to Jack, 
but it was too late. Jack said he wouldn’t accept 
a cent of papa’s money, but would support himself 
entirely, and he would not stay in Boston. He would 
go away and work up a position for himself entirely 
130 


JOSEPHINE 


without papa’s influence. Jack has a very hot 
temper, too. It is different from papa’s, but it is just 
as strong. So he went, and it all had a terrible effect 
upon poor mamma. She was very delicate before, and' 
she worries and worries and gets worse all the time. 
She walks the floor half the night, and sometimes, Jo, 
I think it will affect her mind some day. The worst 
of it is we don’t know where he really is. He writes 
once a month regularly, and we write to him and send 
the letters to New York, but we know he isn’t there. 
He even gave up his own name when he went away. 
He has a very intimate friend in New York, a class- 
mate, who knows where he is, and the letters go to him 
for him to forward. Papa went on to New York and 
tried to get him to tell, but he had promised Jack 
he wouldn’t. I wish we could make Jack reahze that 
he is doing mamma a great deal of harm. If he would 
only come home and see her! But he has made up his 
mind that he won’t until he has succeeded and shown 
that he can support himself and make money without 
a bit of help from papa. The reason he changed 
his name is because he was named for papa, and his is 
so well known, you know, and Jack didn’t want the 
slightest suspicion of influence from that.” 

“And what name has he taken?” 

“We don’t know. Isn’t it dreadful? I am going 
to show you his picture. I keep it put away. It 
isn’t very good of him now, for it was taken when he 
graduated, and he grew to look much older at the 
time of the trouble. You would scarcely know him 
131 


JOSEPHINE 


from this, but I love it, for it looks just as he did 
then.” 

She rose and went to a little cabinet which she un- 
locked. In it was a photograph in a silver frame. 
She looked at it tenderly and then she gave it to 
Josephine. 

“Isn’t he handsome?” she asked. 

Jo saw the face of a young man of twenty-two, with 
fine, candid eyes, excellent features, and an expression 
of good-will and friendliness to the world in general 
that was very winning. At the same time a student 
of human nature would have discovered a suggestion 
of obstinacy in the shape of the mouth and chin 
and a certain pride of bearing in the poise of the head. 

“Isn’t he handsome?” repeated Lilian. 

“Very handsome. I hke his face. I feel as if I 
had seen his eyes before, but I suppose it is because 
they are like yours. You don’t look in the least ahke 
except for the eyes.” 

“No, we are not alike, and, as I say, this doesn’t look 
like Jack as he is now. No doubt he has changed 
even more in the year he has been away. Oh, Jo, Jo, 
it is terrible! Do you wonder I am queer some- 
times? Do you wonder I want all I can have of 
you?” 

Josephine threw her arms around her and held her 
tight. “It is very, very hard for you, dear. I will do 
all I can to help you. Please trust me and don’t 
think that because I am with other girls occasionally 
that I care less for you.” 


132 


JOSEPHINE 


“I’ll try not to,” said Lilian, humbly. “But I do 
wish I could have the whole of you. You are the 
kind of person whom everybody hkes.” 

“ Oh no, I am not. There is one person who doesn’t 
like me at all. I heard him say so with his own lips 
this very morning.” 

“Jo!” 

“Yes, Brom can’t endure me. And Mrs. Sparks 
can’t either. Oh, Lilian, I had forgotten all about 
those children! Chippy and Georgie are at home, and 
Mrs. Sparks was in such a bad temper already, owing 
to my evil deeds, that if anything else goes wrong with 
her I don’t know what will happen.” 

“You are not going?” 

“Yes, I must. I have stayed too long already. 
Thank you, dear, for telling me all you have. Try 
not to worry. I am sure it will all come right in time. 
Your brother will succeed, and then he will come home 
and it will be all right again between him and your 
father.” 

But Lilian shook her head sadly. “I am afraid 
it will be too late then. If I could only make him 
understand about mamma; but he thinks I exaggerate 
her condition so as to induce him to come.” 

“Well, good-bye, dear. I wish I didn’t have to 
leave you, but I must. We will look forward to to- 
morrow. I am glad you are going with us to the 
game. If you were not I don’t believe I should go.’! 

“Really? Do you mean that, Jo?” 

“I truly do. I made up my mind I wouldn’t care 
133 


JOSEPHINE 


what Brom said, but it does keep popping into my 
head.’ He doesn’t want me to go, and I would a 
thousand times rather stay at home.” 

“But you will go?” 

“Oh yes, as long as you are going I will go.” 


X 


THE LETTER 



[T was still raining, but not as heavily, 
and, the wind having shifted after 
blowing steadily from the northeast 
for three days, there seemed to be some 
chance of better weather. Josephine 
scarcely noticed this, however, for her 
mind as she walked home was full of Lilian’s sad story. 
It seemed not only sad but very wrong that there 
should have been such serious trouble between father 
and son. All the circumstances were especially pain- 
ful, and Josephine thought, of the first time that she 
had seen Lihan. She had supposed then that a girl 
who had a horse of her own to ride must be a very, 
enviable person. 

thought I was to be pitied because I had to come 
here where I wasn’t expected and wasn’t wanted, but 
it is better than what Lilian has to bear. Just suppose 
Uncle Will had been a man like Mr. Thayer! And 
though she has a mother, which seems to me the most 
important thing in the whole world, her mother can’t 
help her, and she can do so httle for her. Oh, it is all 
perfectly dreadful. And as for that hateful Mabel 
135 


JOSEPHINE 


Hoffman! I don't wonder Lilian doesn't like Harriet. 
Jack must be charming. He has a most attractive 
face. I should think he would have fallen in love with 
Miss Katherine Blake rather than Miss Hoffman. She 
is so fascinating and dear, and they must have been 
great friends." 

By this time she had reached her uncle's house. 
When she went in it was very quiet. She stopped to 
take off her wet wraps in the hall, and while she was 
doing so she heard hurrying footsteps on the stairs. 
Mrs. Sparks was coming down, and one glance at 
her face as she brushed past Josephine and hast- 
ened kitchenward showed that something was very 
wrong. 

‘‘What is it now?" thought Josephine. “I suppose 
I shall find that those children have been doing some- 
thing dreadful and Georgie will get all the blame." 

She was strugghng with a refractory shoe-lacing 
which had become untied, and this delayed her so 
long that she had not left the hall when she once more 
heard hurrying footsteps. This time they were on 
the back stairs and were undoubtedly those of Mrs. 
Sparks again, and they were followed by the heavy 
tread of Bridget. Jo went up the front stairs and met 
them on the second floor. 

“I don't know nothin' about 'em," said Bridget, 
breathlessly. “You'd better ask the childer if you 
want to know." 

“The children!" exclaimed Mrs. Sparks. “What 
could they do with my best black silk? They do a 
136 


JOSEPHINE 


good deal; I’m well aware of that; but even they 
dassent touch my best black silk.” 

With a prophetic sinking of the heart Jo went to her 
room, while Mrs. Sparks, followed by Bridget, ascended 
the stairs to hers. Josephine’s, while it presented a 
startling appearance, was unoccupied. The children 
were not there. The dolls were scattered about the 
floor, lying with legs and arms doubled under them just 
as they had been flung by the reckless hand of their late 
teacher. The masquerading pillows, tied in the middle 
and draped with stray articles of clothing, drooped 
helplessly over the sides of their chairs. The closet 
door stood open and there was an empty space among 
the garments that hung there. Jo’s keen eyes at once 
discovered that one of her dresses was gone. Her 
worst suspicions were confirmed when she saw that the 
drawer, in which she kept her best hat was half out 
and that the hat was missing. Georgie, like most 
children, had a positive mania for dressing-up. The 
question now was, what had become of her? The 
silence that pervaded the house was ominous. There 
is usually a great calm before a storm. 

And then suddenly the storm broke. There was a 
rush of scurrying steps on the floor above, some one 
tore down from there like a whirlwind, a grotesque 
little figure flew into the room and crawled under the 
bed. There was a crash, a scream, a sound of bumpity- 
bumpity-bump on the stairs; then moans and cries. 
Josephine ran to the hall to find at the foot of the 
stairs a curious heap of black silk, velvet bonnet, and 
137 


JOSEPHINE 


tan-colored stockings, which kicked convulsively, while 
from above Mrs. Sparks and Bridget descended upon 
the victim. 

Chippy’s usual luck had deserted him. He was 
caught in the act, and a just retribution had for once 
overtaken the culprit. 

“I told you so! I told you so!” cried Mrs. Sparks. 
“ If ever there was a woman as had a burden to bear, 
I’m that woman. I can’t even have the satisfaction 
of owning a decent dress without its bringing trouble. 
Lands’ sakes ! My bonnet — my black — velvet — ^bonnet ! 
Again I say, as I’ve said before, and I defy you to deny 
it, the path of a patient woman is bordered with 
thorns.” 

No one wished to deny it, and her vehemence was 
silenced by the discovery that Chippy was really hurt 
seriously. 

There was a sharp, agonizing pain in his arm, a 
general sense of misery over his whole body, but he 
manfully struggled to his feet. Then there began a 
singing and a roaring in his ears, a cold moisture seemed 
to envelop him, and the world grew very dark. The 
famihar figures which surrounded him faded away and 
he could see nothing but a great blackness. They 
picked him up and carried him into Billy’s room and 
tenderly laid him on the bed. He moaned when they 
touched his arm in trying to take off the black silk 
waist. 

‘‘ It’s broken,” said Mrs. Sparks, and she proceeded 
to heroic measures. She took from her pocket a pair 
138 


JOSEPHINE 


of shears, and, removing the sheath which encased 
them, she cut apart her treasured garment. set 
too much store by it,'' said she, as the shears went 
through the silk with a relentless swish that must have 
pierced the heart of its owner. “It's a lesson to me 
not to lay up treasures." She turned to Josephine. 
“Go to the telephone and call up the hospital. If 
Dr. Hale's there tell 'em to have him come as soon as 
he can. And if he ain't there and they don't know 
how to get him, tell 'em to send somebody as knows 
enough to set a broken arm." 

Josephine obeyed and had the satisfaction of hearing 
that her uncle would come home at once. Then, as 
there seemed to be nothing that she could do for 
Chippy, she went in search of Georgiana. 

The child was not to be seen, but a shght trembling 
of the white valance that draped the high, four-post 
bedstead reminded Jo that she had seen her disappear 
beneath it at the beginning of the excitement. Lifting 
it, she peeped under and discovered her sister. 

“Do come out right away, Georgie, and tell me how 
you came to do such naughty things." 

Jo's voice was very severe and her manner per- 
emptory. Georgiana crawled out. Her sister's hat, 
battered and bruised by its many adventures, she 
carried in her hand in her progress over the floor. 
Josephine's best skirt, pinned here and there to shorten 
it to suit the stature of its present wearer, had gathered 
the dust that will accumulate under a bed in spite of 
the most scrupulous vigilance. In short, Georgiana's 
139 


JOSEPHINE 


appearance when she rose to her feet and confronted 
Josephine was enough to irritate the most patient 
and even-tempered of sisters, and Jo was neither. 

“I do think it is too bad!” she exclaimed. can’t 
leave you for a minute that you don’t get into mischief. 
You promised that you wouldn’t play with Chippy 
while I was gone. You told me you weren’t going to 
speak to him, and look what you’ve done! My 
clothes are ruined, and so are Mrs. Sparks’s; Chippy’s 
arm is broken, and he has fainted and perhaps is 
awfully hurt besides. Mrs. Sparks has every reason 
to be furious. Uncle Will and the boys will wish more 
than ever we hadn’t come. They will hate us. You 
are a naughty little girl, Georgie. You don’t keep 
your promises. I wish you hadn’t come with me to 
the East. You ought to be back in Seattle.” 

It was a cruel speech, and Josephine knew that it 
was as soon as it was uttered, but she was too angry 
and too anxious about Chippy to care. Georgiana 
did not say a word. She submitted silently to the 
tugs and pulls and twitches with which Josephine 
divested her of her borrowed garments. Her own 
dress was underneath. 

“Now put those dolls and things away,” commanded 
Jo. “ I never saw such a looking room. You have 
torn a big hole in this pillow-case. What will Mrs. 
Sparks say to that? You are a perfectly dreadful 
child!” 

Georgiana obeyed, still in silence. Josephine left 
her to go to Chippy, and when she returned the room 
140 


JOSEPHINE 


was in perfect order, but Georgie was not there. Dr. 
Hale came home, and Chippy's arm was set. He had 
soon revived from his faintness, and it was found that 
no other serious injury had been done, so far as could 
be discovered at present, and when he had been made 
as comfortable as possible and the family had re- 
covered somewhat from the excitement of the accident 
the doctor began to inquire into the cause of it. Mrs. 
Sparks was the first witness. She appeared before 
him with her ruined garment in her hand. 

‘^You see, doctor, what I had to do — cut apart my 
best black silk. Chippy had it on. Not that I blame 
him — oh no ! He never did such actions in the past. 
Long as I've known Chippy he 'ain't never dressed 
himself in my clothes afore this. Wearin' my best 
black silk, and I've had to slash it to pieces to get it 
off him! My best bonnet crushed and battered; my 
lace veil torn in slivers! And to choose this time of 
all others, with Thanksgiving right on to us! The 
truth is he 'ain't never done such things in the whole 
of his blessed little life as he’s done since the Westerners 
came here. Look at everything that's happened, 
beginning with the snake. Those girls — '! 

^‘The girls were not responsible for bringing the 
snake into the house, Mrs. Sparks," interrupted the 
doctor. ^^And that has nothing to do with the 
present case. I am very sorry about your dress, but, 
of course, that can be remedied. Buy yourself some 
new silk, and please let me know how much you pay 
for it. Fix up the bonnet and buy a new veil, and 
, 141 


JOSEPHINE 


tell me the whole amount that you may be obliged 
to spend on your things. I suppose Chippy and 
Georgie are too young to be left alone together. You 
are too busy to look after them. Perhaps we ought 
to have a nurse again, or somebody.^/, 

^^Dear! dear! To think how smoothly we was 
goin’ afore any one come here to stay! Please consult 
me, doctor, afore you get in any new person to look 
after ^em. I had a suffering enough time along o’ Mary 
Ann. P’r’aps you’d like me to go this time! I dare 
say you’ll find some one else as has as light a hand at 
pastry.” 

^‘Oh no, no, not for the world! I sha’n’t do any- 
thing at present. I want to speak to Georgie now.” 
And he hurriedly left the room and went in search of 
her. 

But Georgie could not be found. J osephine had been 
hunting for her in every place that she could think 
of, but with no success. They called her, they opened 
doors and looked under beds and sofas, they even 
telephoned to Mrs. Emlen’s house, thinking that she 
might have gone there, but she was not to be dis- 
covered. Josephine felt very repentant and very 
anxious. She knew her little sister’s nature; she was 
extremely sensitive to reproof or blame, and Jo had 
not been sparing of her words. After all, it was more 
than probable that Chippy had been the only one 
responsible for the escapade of the morning. Georgie 
had suffered before for no wrong-doing of her own, 
and now to know that her sister had turned against her 
142 


JOSEPHINE 


and had blamed her must be tearing her gentle little 
heart to pieces. Where could the child be? 

It was almost luncheon-time^ and Dr. Hale was at 
his desk, when the office door, which stood partly ajar, 
was slowly pushed open and Georgiana came softly 
into the room. 

“Uncle Will!’’ she said, in a small voice. He turned 
quickly and looked at her. Georgie sprang forward 
and in a moment she was on his knee, her face buried 
in his shoulder, her form shaken with sobs. He held 
her in his arms and said scarcely a word, and presently 
she grew quiet. 

“You feel like father,’’ she whispered. “Can I tell 
you all about it ?’’ 

“Yes, dear, tell me.” 

“Chippy didn’t make me promise this time,’i she 
began. 

“Did he before?”. 

“Oh yes. About the — oh, I mustn’t speak of it. 
I ’most forgot. But this time he didn’t, so I can tell 
you. I wouldn’t let him in, and then he came thi-ough 
the closet, all dressed up in Mrs. Sparks’s things, and 
he looked so funny I couldn’t help laughing, and then 
we played school ever so long. Then we got tired of 
that, and he said for me to dress up, too, and we’d go 
visiting round the house; so I put on some of Jo’s 
things, and we were up in Chippy’s room when we 
heard people up in the back rooms, and we knew Mrs. 
Sparks was coming to look for us, so Chippy said to 
run. By that time we were playing Indians. At 
143 


JOSEPHINE 


least we were the early settlers, and we pretended Mrs. 
Sparks and Bridget were Indians coming after ns. I 
got down all right, but Chippy fell down-stairs.” 

‘^And where have you been hiding, httle one? 
Haven’t you heard us calling you?” 

‘‘Yes, I heard you, but I couldn’t come ’cause Jo 
had hurt my feehngs very much. She said I was 
responsible for it all, and I wasn’t. So I just went 
up to my cry-closet and stayed there, and then I 
thought I’d come tell you about it, ’cause you’re 
Chippy’s father. Y ou see everybody here thinks every- 
thing’s my fault. Even Jo thinks so now, and as long 
as Chippy hadn’t made me promise this time I thought 
I’d tell you. You won’t scold Chippy, Uncle Will, will 
you? ’Cause he fell down and hurt himself, and I guess 
he’s sorry about taking Mrs. Sparks’s things. And 
would you hke me to go back to Seattle?” 

“My dear child! No! And don’t think again such 
a thought.” 

Jo said I oughtn’t to have come with her.” 

“Jo didn’t really mean that, I am sure. She has 
been very anxious about you. Where did you say 
you were hiding?” 

“In my cry-closet.” 

“Where is that?” 

“If you would just as lief. Uncle Will, I would 
rather not tell you. It’s a nice, secret place that 
nobody knows about. You see, sometimes I have felt 
hke crying ’cause the boys thought I let out the snake, 
and I don’t hke to do it before Jo, ’cause she’s worried 
144 


JOSEPHINE 


anyhow, and sometimes I have other things to think 
about, and it^s a good place for thinking. You don’t 
really mind if I don’t tell you. Uncle Will?” 

“Suppose I promise not to tell any one; would 
you tell me then? Don’t you think it would be fun 
for you and me to have a secret?” 

“I think it would be perfect. Well, then, it’s a 
closet that is in the attic. Chippy took me up there 
one day to look for something, and I saw that closet. 
There’s nothing in it but old pieces of china on the 
shelves, and things hke that, and there’s a box under 
the shelves that I sit on. Now you really won’t tell, 
Uncle Will?” 

“No, dear, I promise. But now it is your turn to 
promise me something. Before you go to your cry- 
closet won’t you come to tell me what the trouble is? 
If I am not in the house wait until I come home. I 
shall always have time to hear it. Is it a bargain?’’ 

Georgie sat up straight and looked at him. 

“Yes,” said she. “ I’d a great deal rather do it than 
go to the cry-closet. You’re such a comforter.” 

“That’s right. And now we’ll go find Jo, for she 
doesn’t know where you are and she feels very sorry 
you ran away and hid.” 

It did not take long for Josephine to atone for her 
severity, and Georgiana’s peace of mind was soon 
completely restored. 

It was now Chippy’s turn to be agitated, for the news 
had just been broken to him that it would be im- 
possible for him to go to the ball-game the next day. 

145 


JOSEPHINE 


Could a greater calamity have happened to a boy, be 
he large or small? It certainly was very hard to 
bear, and when his three brothers came home and 
heard the news they gathered around his bedside to 
express their fraternal sympathy in a way that was 
immensely flattering to 'Hhe kid.” For the time 
being. Chippy, instead of being scolded for his pranks, 
was the hero of the hour. 

“You poor little mite!” said Billy, drawing up the 
rocking-chair. “It’s a beastly shame. Chip! I broke 
my arm once, when I was a little shaver younger than 
you. But mother was here then, and she looked after 
me, so it wasn’t as bad.” Billy’s voice was very 
tender when he spoke of his mother. He rarely 
mentioned her, but he had never ceased to miss her. 

“You can have my book of stamps to look at while 
we’re gone,” said Bromfield. “Only don’t monkey 
with them, will you. Chippy? Whatever made you 
think of dressing up? Only girls do that. I suppose 
Georgie put you up to it.” 

“No, she didn’t,” said Chippy. “I hadn’t anything 
else to do. You fellows were all off, so I had to do 
any old thing.” The magnificence of lying in his bed 
surrounded by his big brothers and addressing them on 
these terms of equality was almost too much for him. 
“Besides, I thought she’d like to be amused.” 

“Oh!” chorused the brothers. It was a warning 
note, and was not unheeded. Chippy changed the 
subject. 

“It’s awful that I can’t go to-morrow.” 

146 


JOSEPHINE 


“It won’t be much of a game/’ groaned Roger. 
“It is going to be a regular old wipe-out for our side.’! 

“Shut up, youngster! What do you know about it? 
What does any one know?” said Billy. 

“This rain has made a nasty field.” 

“Well, that’s as bad for Yale as it is for us.” 

The glamour of Chippy’s new position lasted until 
the next day, but then the reaction set in. He awoke 
weighed down with the sense of something disagreeable, 
nameless, but none the less pressing. What was it? 
he thought. Oh yes! No game. Alone all day with 
a broken arm while his family made merry on Soldiers’ 
Field. Josephine, coming in to see him, found him 
weeping into his pillow. 

“Why, Chippy, you poor little fellow,” said she, 
softly, “I am so awfully sorry.” 

“Oh, I want to go,” moaned Chippy. “I want to 
go worse than anything I ever wanted in my whole life. 
And what am I going to do all day?” 

“We’ll have some fun.” 

“We? You’re going to the game.” 

“No, I’m not. I don’t want to go. I haven’t 
wanted to very much from the first, or at least I 
haven’t wanted to the last day or two. I am going 
down now to tell Uncle Will.” 

It was a difficult matter to get Dr. Hale’s consent 
for her to remain at home, and the boys looked at 
her with undisguised astonishment. 

“She must be a pretty good sort, after all,” remarked 
Bromfield to Billy, in an undertone. 

147 


II 


JOSEPHINE 


Josephine heard him and her color rose. 

“But you mustn’t think, Uncle Will, that I am 
giving up a great deal,” she said, honestly. She did 
not wish to sail under false colors. “For the last two 
days I haven’t cared much about going. Of course it 
would be fun to see the game and the crowds and all 
that, but there are reasons why I would rather not go, 
so I am glad to stay with Chippy. It isn’t because I 
am unselfish, for I am not.” 

Somehow Brom liked her all the better for this 
speech. It was impossible to doubt her sincerity, 
though he could not imagine why her enthusiasm had 
so suddenly waned. He supposed it was because 
she was a girl, and therefore did these unaccountable 
things. It never occurred to him that he was in any 
way the cause of it. 

“It is too bad,” said her uncle. “I am not at all 
willing to have you give it up. There is no reason 
why you should stay at home any more than one of 
the boys or myself. I shall stay.” 

“That you won’t, father!” exclaimed Billy. “You 
know very well you care more about going to the 
game than anything you do in the whole year, and 
you arrange your work weeks beforehand so that you 
can go. We are not going to let you back out of 
going.” 

“I am going to stay. That is decided,” said 
Josephine. “I’ve got a good, strong will of my own. 
Uncle Will, and it is just as well for you to find it out. 
You can ask somebody to go on my ticket.” 

148 


JOSEPHINE 


Harry Sherman would be the very one,” whispered 
Brom. ‘‘He's the only fellow I know who hasn’t a 
seat.” 

And so it was finally arranged. It was necessary 
now to break the news to Lilian Thayer. Josephine 
telephoned to her, but Lilian upon hearing what she 
had to say cut off the connection at once and came in, 
hoping to be able to persuade her to reconsider her 
decision, but she soon found that her entreaties were 
useless. 

“Then I am not going myself,” said Lilian. “I 
will not go without you. Be the only girl in the party ? 
Why, of course I won’t.” 

“But Aunt Alice will be so disappointed, Lilian, if 
neither of us go.” 

“She can ask some one else. I cannot go without 
you.” 

They were standing in the doorway and their con- 
versation was interrupted by the coming of the post- 
man. Lilian, being nearer to him, took the letters 
and handed them to Josephine. As she did so her 
glance fell upon the one that was uppermost, and 
it was impossible for her to avoid reading the ad- 
dress. She started perceptibly and her face grew 
white. 

“Jo!”, she exclaimed. 

“What is the matter? Why, Lilian, don’t you feel 
well? Come inside and sit down.” 

“Oh, it is nothing. What a lot of letters! Are 
they all for you?” 


149 


JOSEPHINE 


^^Why, of course not.” 

^^But one of them is — I — I saw the address.” 

Josephine thought this remark rather peculiar. It 
seemed strange that a girl of Lilian’s good breed- 
ing should manifest such interest in her neighbors’ 
letters. She threw them carelessly on the hall ta- 
ble. 

‘^Aren’t you going to read them?” asked Lilian. 
“There is one there for you.” 

“ I know it, but there is no hurry.” Josephine spoke 
rather coldly. 

“How funny you are! I am always so eager to 
read mine.” 

But Jo turned away and there was nothing for 
Lilian to do but go home. 

“It is very strange,” she said to herself. “I am 
just as sure as I can be of anything, and yet it seems 
impossible. I suppose people do write alike some- 
times. I didn’t look at it closely, and of course it may 
have been only the general look. What man can it 
be that Jo corresponds with? Perhaps one of her 
brothers-in-law. She didn’t seem to be a bit excited 
about getting it. Oh, if I could only know whom it is 
from ! I wonder if there would be the slightest chance 
of her telling me if I were to go in again later in the 
day.” 

In her extreme interest in the letter she had not 
noticed Josephine’s manner. She was quite un- 
conscious that she had seemed to be inquisitive. The 
likeness of the handwriting to one with which she was 
150 


JOSEPHINE 


familiar was of too great importance to permit her to 
think of any impression that she might have given. 
Idle curiosity was so far from her mind that it did 
not occur to her that Josephine could suppose her 
capable of it. 


XI 


CHIPPY TELLS 



►T was a beautiful day after the storm 
of Friday. Ideal football weather, as 
every one said. Georgiana went to 
spend a long day with Beatrice Emlen, 
and after an early lunch Dr. Hale and 
his three boys started for Cambridge. 
The air was crisp and the sky was clear, with here and 
there a white cloud to remind one that the storm 
had passed and to throw into more exquisite beauty 
the glorious blue of the present. It was the sort of 
weather that makes one long to be doing something 
pleasant, to go somewhere — not to waste by staying in 
the house. Josephine had thought that she did not 
care much about seeing the game, that it would be no 
hardship to give it up. When it came to the point 
and she saw her uncle and cousins start for the station, 
and when a few minutes later Mrs. Emlen and Katherine 
Blake drove by and waved their hands in farewell, when 
various acquaintances passed the house laden with 
warm wraps and carrying furled crimson flags, when 
Violet Blake and Harriet Hoffman, both in red 
hats and decked with crimson carnations, drove 
152 


JOSEPHINE 


hurriedly to the train, then Josephine experienced 
that subtle feeling of depression which comes when we 
think that all the world is holiday-making with the 
exception of ourselves — that for us alone it is a 
workaday existence. 

“I haven’t even the satisfaction of knowing that 
I am doing it for Chippy,” said Josephine to herself, 
as she slowly mounted the stairs on her way to her 
cousin’s room. ^‘I’m doing it because I was provoked 
with Brom for not wanting me. They all think I am 
so good and sweet and unselfish, and I am not. I am 
only mad at Brom. ,I couldn’t tell them that, and 
I couldn’t say I didn’t want to see the game, and I 
have pretended to be what I’m not and have made a 
botch of the whole business. Heigh-ho, Josephine Hale ! 
I don’t think much of you. But now that I have 
started on this career of apparent unselfishness I may 
as well make it as nice for poor little Chippy as I can. 
He must be awfully disappointed. If I feel it so 
much, it must be a thousand times worse for him.” 

She succeeded so well that by the middle of the 
afternoon Chippy was moved to eloquence. 

‘‘I like you,” he announced, with startling unex- 
pectedness. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Josephine. She was 
really very much pleased, but she dared not show her 
pleasure too openly. She was fast learning the ways 
and the nature of boys. 

“Yes, I like you very much. When you first came 
we fellows were mad about it.” 

153 


JOSEPHINE 


^^Were you? I am sorry.'^ 

“Yes, we were real mad. I don’t believe Brom 
has got over it yet. It takes Brom an awful long 
while to change his mind about things. But Billy 
liked you all along, and Roger does now. Roger 
thinks you were a brick to stay at home with me, and I 
do, too. You’ve played as good a game of checkers as 
Brom could, and I like the way you read out loud.” 

“Thank you,” said Josephine, demurely. “I’m 
glad I gave satisfaction.” 

Chippy was silent for a few minutes. It was 
evident that he was thinking deeply. At last he 
spoke again. 

“What did you think of that fellow?” 

“Which fellow?” 

“The one in the story you read — Jim Adams.”- 

“I thought he was a very nice boy.” 

“He needn’t have told that, need he?” 

“About untying the boat and letting it float away?” 

“Yes. It didn’t do any good. They found the 
boat, and it didn’t make any difference who had 
done it.” 

“It was a great deal more honest for him to tell. 
Yes, I think he ought to have told, and I’m glad he 
did. I liked him a great deal better after that.” 

“It would have been worse if they had scolded any 
one else for doing it,” continued Chippy, thoughtfully. 

“Oh yes, a thousand times worse. It is mean to 
let any one else suffer.” 

After that he was again silent, and presently Jo- 
154 



‘‘‘when you first came we fellows were mad 


ABOUT IT 


) ;; 




JOSEPHINE 


sephine proposed a game which they played in Seattle 
and which she would teach him. They were in the 
midst of it when he spoke again. 

“I was the one who thought of dressing up yester- 
day. Georgie didn't want me to come in and bolted 
the door. I got the key to the closet door out of Mrs. 
Sparks's room. That's when I dressed up. Georgie 
hadn't anything to do with it." 

‘^1 am glad to hear it," said Josephine. 

^‘You're awful fond of that kid, aren't you?" 

^‘Why, of course I am. She's my sister, and she's 
a dear." 

“I like her pretty well myself. I like her better 
than I ever thought I'd hke a little girl. She don't 
scare worth a cent. But then she'd seen it before." 

^‘Had seen what before?" 

“The — oh, never mind what! Just something I was 
showing her one day. Did she tell you anything about 
it?" 

“How can I answer unless you tell me what you are 
talking about?" 

They were interrupted by Bridget, who came to say 
that Lilian Thayer was down-stairs. She offered to 
stay with Chippy, and Josephine went down very 
gladly. She wondered for a moment what Chippy 
had been on the point of saying, but she had some- 
thing else in her mind which interested her extremely. 
It was in connection with the letter which she had 
received that morning. She wished very much to talk 
about it to some one, and Lilian seemed to be the best 
155 


JOSEPHINE 


listener to choose. To be sure, she had been rather 
annoyed by Lilian’s interest in the letters when they 
came, but, after all, that might only have been imagina- 
tion on Josephine’s part. Girl-like, she felt the need 
of a confidante. 

Lilian was evidently somewhat excited. have 
come to ask you something,” she said. 

What is it?” asked Jo, brightly. 

‘^Will you please tell me whom your letter was from 
this morning?” 

^‘Why, Lilian!” 

“What’s the matter? Why are you so surprised? 
I have been simply wild to find out ever since I saw 
the address. You really must tell me, Jo. It is so 
important that I should know.” 

“I don’t see why it is important that you should 
know whom my letters are from. You must be very 
curious and inquisitive.” 

“Oh, I am not!” cried Lilian. “Is it possible you 
think me that ! I have a special reason for wanting to 
know.” 

There is a certain contrariness in human nature 
which is apt to take possession of us at precisely the 
wrong moment. Josephine had come down-stairs 
with the fixed intention of telling Lilian about her 
letter. It was actually in her pocket at the moment. 
When she found that Lilian was filled with this ap- 
parently unbridled curiosity in regard to the matter 
she determined to tell her not a word. 

“I don’t know what you call it,”, said Josephine, 
156 


JOSEPHINE 


coldly, “but you certainly seem very anxious to 
find out about that letter. I think we will talk about 
something else, if you don’t mind. I do so dishke 
curiosity.” 

Lilian looked at her. Then she turned and left the 
room. The front door closed and Josephine was left 
alone. 

“Dear me, now she’s offended!” said Jo to herself. 
“How I do hate people who are always getting of- 
fended! And I have a great deal more right to be 
than she has. She is certainly awfully curious. Oh, 
how I wish I’d gone to the game! I wish I hadn’t 
been so nasty to lilian. What’s the use of wishing? 
How could I help what I said? I’m afraid I’ve hurt 
her feelings awfully. But she is curious!” 

The short November day was soon over, and the 
great game also became a matter of the past. That 
which had been planned for and practised for, which 
had absorbed pages of the newspapers and hours of 
discussion for so many weeks, was now numbered with 
the things that have been and no longer are. The 
Hales returned with depressed demeanor and carefully 
hidden flags. 

“The less said about it the better,” was Bromfield’s 
gloomy comment as he sought the seclusion of the 
study. Roger, however, gave himself the satisfaction 
of describing to the attentive and sympathetic Chippy 
the “awful mess those fellows made of it.” 

“Just wait till Billy gets on the team,” continued 
Roger. “Then Yale will open their eyes a bit. Then 
157 


JOSEPHINE 


we’ll see some football!” And they consoled them- 
selves for their present defeat by making plans for a 
victorious future. Their hero was not at home, so it 
was safe to build these air castles. They knew very 
well that had he been within hearing they would have 
been permitted no such satisfaction, for Billy was very 
modest. He had been invited to dine at the Blakes’ 
in order to discuss some scheme of amusement which 
the girls had in mind to take place during the Christmas 
holidays. 

That evening, shortly before Chippy’s usual bed- 
time, Bromfield sauntered into his youngest brother’s 
room. There happened to be no one there at the 
time. Brom threw himself across the foot of the bed 
and leaned his head on his arm. “Well, kid, how did 
you get along all day?” he asked, kindly. 

The younger boys of Stockton all looked up to 
Bromfield with a respectful admiration that would 
have amused him had he realized it, and perhaps would 
have annoyed him, too, for he was quite free from 
Vanity. He was so absolutely honest, so true and 
straightforward, that his character made itself felt. 
No concessions were possible with Brom. Things 
were good or bad, right or wrong, black or white. 
Gray was a color unknown to him, metaphorically 
speaking. And with it all he was kind to almost 
every one, and especially so to the little boys. Girls 
of any age he, as he expressed it, had no use for. 
He felt shy in their presence, he doubted their sincerity. 
There had been more than 'one occasion in the past 
158 


JOSEPHINE 


which had seemed to prove to Bromfield that a girl’s 
sense of honor was not developed or was altogether 
lacking. Twice had he looked for proof of its existence 
and twice had been disappointed. He had then made 
up his mind that girls were all deficient in that respect. 
He was very uncompromising in his Judgments, very 
arbitrary in his decisions, and because of those very 
faults of his nature his respect and affection were 
considered all the more desirable. If his mother had 
lived or ne had had sisters who could have taught 
him, he vvould have learned before he was sixteen that 
he was mistaken in his sweeping denunciation of all 
girls. As it was, it would be necessary for him to 
discover this by experience. But the boys loved him, 
and especially devoted to him was his youngest 
brother. 

“You didn’t miss much in the game,” continued 
Brom. “What have you been doing?” 

“Jo has been in here most of the time,” replied 
Chippy. “ She played games and she read to me. She 
knows how to hunch up your pillows and fix things 
better than anybody. A heap better than Mrs. 
Sparks or Bridget.” 

To this eulogy Bromfield vouchsafed no reply. 

“And Georgie’s a pretty good sort, too,” continued 
Chippy. “Of course, she’s little and likes babyish 
games, but she doesn’t scare worth a cent.” It was 
the highest praise he could bestow. 

“She certainly isn’t afraid of snakes,” observed 
Brom. “She was equal to letting Roger’s out.” 

159 


JOSEPHINE 


Chippy turned his face away from the light and said 
nothing for a time. There was silence in the room, 
broken only by the loud ticking of a very small clock 
on the bureau. 

^‘Brom,” said he, at last, think I may as well tell 
you how that really was. I think Georgie had been 
there before, ^ cause she guessed it was snakes when I 
gave her three guesses about what was in the closet, 
but — ^but — ” 

^‘But what?’’ 

^‘1 found out it was there first and took her up to 
see it, and I was the one who took the slat off, and — 
and — I think it was as much my fault as anybody’s 
the snake got out.” 

^^And you let it be supposed all this time it was a 
girl who did it?” 

“Yes,” said a very small voice. 

Bromfield thought of the scathing remarks which 
he had himself made — of the cold, disagreeable way in 
which he had behaved to his cousins since the affair. 
He was more angry with himself than with Chippy as 
he rose from the bed. 

“And that little Georgie has never given it away all 
this time?” 

“I don’t think so. She promised, you see, and I 
wouldn’t Tet her off.” 

Bromfield gave an inarticulate exclamation and 
walked out of the room. 

“He’s awful mad,” said Chippy to his pillow. “But 
I’m glad I told.” 


160 


JOSEPHINE 


The next day was Sunday, and therefore Josephine 
did not see Lilian until they were both in their accus- 
tomed places at St. Peter’s. After her first glance in 
that direction Jo did not again look at her friend until 
the service was half over. She sat at the top of her 
uncle’s pew with Georgie and a line of boys below her, 
while Lilian was across the aisle and nearer the front. 
Mr. Thayer was there, and Josephine could see his cold, 
impenetrable profile. It seemed to her like a mask. 
It was sad to see the empty space between the father 
and daughter. She thought of the mother ill at home, 
of the absent son and brother. Try as she would it 
was impossible for her to put these thoughts from 
her mind, and at last, during the singing of the hymn 
before the sermon, she looked again at Lilian. She 
could plainly see her face, for it was partly turned 
towards her and there was no one between them. Its 
expression was so sad and desolate that Jo’s heart 
ached. Truly she had been disagreeable the day 
before. She had not forgotten Lilian’s look of hurt 
surprise when she had accused her of being curious. 
Well, what else was she? It was perfectly true. 

“But still, I suppose, even if we don’t like certain 
things in our friends we needn’t make a point of telling 
them so,” she said to herself. “I am sorry I hurt 
her feelings, but I think her feelings are too easily 
hurt.” 

When Josephine finally bestowed her attention upon 
the sermon she found that it was upon the subject of 
the mote and the beam. “ I suppose that just fits me,” 
161 


JOSEPHINE 


she thought. have a great big beam in my own 
eye and ought not to think about Lilian's mote." 
But, as is the case with most of us, her beam was not 
so large in her own estimation as to prevent her seeing, 
as she thought, clearly. She hated curiosity, she said 
over and over again to herself, and Lilian was curious. 
She would be as nice as she could be to her, and would 
never again accuse her of her faults, but she would 
not tell her anything about the letter. 

She determined to make a point of speaking to her 
after service, but Lilian slipped out of church very 
quickly, and Josephine, detained by Georgie's demands 
that she should help her with her coat and by the 
people who came to speak to her uncle before he could 
leave the pew, was unable to overtake her. As the 
girls usually walked home together, this proved to her 
that Lilian was very much hurt. She intended to go 
in to see her that afternoon, but Dr. Hale, having an 
unusual amount of leisure at his disposal, proposed 
that they should all take a walk, and, as this was a rare 
treat, Jo would not for the world have given it up. 
Lilian saw them all approach and pass the house, and 
looked at them enviously. 

‘‘She isn't thinking of me!" she said to herself, and 
just at that moment they turned and caught sight of 
her at the window. Jo waved her hand and kissed it, 
and the doctor and the boys took off their hats. Then 
Dr. Hale stopped and motioned to Lilian to open the 
window. “ Get your hat and come with us," he called. 
“We are going through Haven Street and will walk 
162 


JOSEPHINE 


slowly until you overtake us. Yes, you must come. 
I am your physician and you must obey me.’^ 

There was no gainsaying Dr. Hale, and as he waited 
until she left the window to put on her jacket and hat 
she was obliged to do as he commanded. She made up 
her mind as she hastened after the party to put from 
her all disturbing thoughts, and she succeeded so well 
that she enjoyed the walk. Josephine was very 
cordial to her, and the incident of yesl^erday was 
consigned to the past. It was only when she was 
alone again that she thought about it, turning over 
and over in her mind all the circumstances connected 
with it. 

“I suppose I did seem inquisitive,’^ she said to 
herself. “ Of course Jo couldn’t imagine why I wanted 
so much to know about it. She had no idea that the 
writing was like Jack’s. It gave me such a shock to 
see it that I scarcely knew what I did after that. It 
seemed as if it must be from him, and yet how absurd 
an idea it was! Still, he might be in Seattle, and Jo 
might have known him there, and they might correspond. 
But wouldn’t she know who he was? And would 
Jack write to her knowing she was next door to us? 
Oh, it is all so queer and dreadful! It is so terrible 
not to know what Jack is called now. And to see his 
handwriting and be so close to it without being able 
to find out! I wonder I didn’t snatch the letter out 
of her hand when I saw it. I suppose the only thing 
for me to do is to keep perfectly quiet and ask nothing 
more. Jo was dear this afternoon, but she evidently 
163 


12 


JOSEPHINE 


doesn’t intend to tell me. Of course, she thought it 
queer, and I suppose it is natural that she does. If 
she could only know that I don’t care a snap whom it 
was from if only I could be sure it wasn’t from Jack!” 

And while Lilian sat in the stone house occupied 
with these painful thoughts, Josephine in her room 
at her uncle’s re-read the letter which had caused the 
disturbance. It ran : 

“ My dear Miss Hale, — You were very kind to write so 
cordially. I appreciate your note very much. I understood 
perfectly that the return of the trifling loan had escaped your 
uncle’s mind temporarily and that he would remember it in 
time. No one who has ever known Dr. Hale could think other- 
wise. I hope you are happy in Stockton. It is a most beauti- 
ful old town, and to me the most attractive place in the East. 
I wish I could know something of your life there. If I can 
ever serve you in any way, or if ever in the future you should 
have anything to communicate to me, may I ask you to have 
no hesitation in doing so ? I am well aware that this suggestion 
will seem very extraordinary to you, but I beg you to have 
faith in my motive in asking it. 

“Very sincerely yours, 

“R. Jackson.” 

“I wish I knew what to do about it,” thought 
Josephine. ‘Ht seems to me very strange that he 
should write to me in this way, but his note sounds 
like a gentleman’s, and I am sure he is a nice man. 
I don’t like to ask any one. I should have shown it to 
Lilian if — if she had been different, but there is no one 
else. Uncle would be annoyed at his doing it, and so 
would Aunt Alice, so I won’t tell them. I know he 
doesn’t mean to be impertinent, but I suppose they 
would think so. I will just put it away.” 

164 


JOSEPHINE 


It was a mistake, but a very natural one. 

That evening she asked her uncle if the conductor 
had acknowledged to him the receipt of the money. 

“Yes, I had a note from him a day or two ago,^’ 
said Dr. Hale. “It is on my desk somewhere. I 
am going to my office now. Would you like to 
see it?” 

He tossed over the letters and papers on his desk, 
and finally found the one for which he was looking. 

“You can destroy it when you get through with it,” 
he said, as he gave it to her carelessly. “Your friend 
Jacksoffis handwriting is not much to boast of.” 

Jo looked at it. “Why, this isffit — ” she exclaimed, 
and then stopped. Her uncle was already absorbed 
in something else and did not notice her surprise. She 
took the note to her own room and compared it with 
the one she had received. No one would have suspect- 
ed that they were from the same person. Dr. Hale’s 
was scrawled in an illiterate hand and contained 
merely a few words of acknowledgment: 

“ Dear Sir, — I am obliged to you for the check for ten dol- 
lars received this day. R. Jacezson.” 

Josephine studied both the notes carefully. Then 
she folded them up together and put them away. 

“There is certainly a mystery connected with R. 
Jackson,” she thought. “I wonder if I shall ever 
know what it is or hear anything more about him?” 

She remained in her room to help Georgie, and when 
the little girl was finally tucked up in bed and the last 
165 


JOSEPHINE 


good-night kiss had been bestowed she was about to 
go down-stairs, but Georgie called her back. 

‘‘Something very nice has happened,” she whispered. 

“Has it? I am glad of that. What is it?” 

“Chippy told Brom I didn’t let out the snake, and 
he and Roger told me they were sorry they’d scolded 
me and thought I had done it. So it’s all right now, 
Jo, and I guess you’ll feel better, too, now you know 
I’m not the one.” 

“I never supposed you were the one,” exclaimed 
Josephine. “I think it was very mean of Chippy to 
let it go on so long and for Brom to be so hateful.” 

“Oh, he’s not hateful,” said Georgie, sleepily. “He 
was very kind.” She turned over and in a minute was 
fast asleep. 

When Jo went down-stairs Bromfield was waiting 
for her in the hall. “I am sorry we made such a 
mistake,” he said, stiffly. “It was Chippy, after all, 
who let the snake out.” 

“Of course,” replied Josephine. “I can’t imagine 
why you didn’t know that at once.” 

“Did Georgie tell you at the time?” 

“Georgie didn’t tell me a word.” 

“She’s a plucky little thing.” 

Josephine made no answer and went into the 
library. 

“ She’s mad at me, and I don’t wonder,” thought 
Bromfield. “I suppose she hates me by this time. 
Well, who cares?” 

But to his own surprise he found that he himself 
166 


JOSEPHINE 


cared very much. Jo had not been there very long, 
but already she and Billy were the best of friends; 
she had helped Roger once or twice with his French 
and he had pronounced her a “ brick she had won 
the heart of Chippy by her kindness, and apparently 
had thus led him to confession; his father took visible 
comfort in having her in the house. The house itself 
already looked different. He did not know exactly 
what it was, but there was certainly a more com- 
fortable, cosey look to the rooms they sat in. Brom- 
field went to the study intending to stay there and 
read, but very soon he went down to the library carry- 
ing his book with him. They were all talking, and, 
although he opened his book and held it ostentatiously 
before him, he became so n.uch interested in the con- 
versation that he soon forgot to read, and before he 
knew it he was talking, too. 


XII 


AN INTERRUPTED TALK 

HE following morning Josephine was 
summoned to the telephone just as 
she was about to leave the house to 
go next door. She found that it was 
Katherine Blake who wished to speak 
to her. Josephine looked upon Miss 
Blake as a being apart from the ordinary race of mor- 
tals. She was several years older than her sister Violet, 
and was different from her in every respect. She 
was thoroughly unaffected and unspoiled, in spite of 
the fact that she had all her life been admired and 
sought after. She was fond of society and had always 
been a belle; she had wealth and social position, and, 
although she was not beautiful, she was extremely 
attractive-looking; but with all these desirable attri- 
butes she was perfectly simple and natural, and, while 
she was kind to almost every one, she was especially so 
to the younger girls. 

^^Good-morning, Jo,^^ she said, blithely, over the 
telephone. “Will you come to our house this after- 
noon at four o’clock? We are making great plans, as I 
suppose Billy told you.” 



168 


JOSEPHINE 


said you were getting up a play/’ 

Yes, we are going to have it Christmas week, and I 
want you to take a part.” 

“Oh, Miss Blake! I never did such a thing in my 
life! I can’t act.” 

“How do you know you can’t? Because you never 
have done it doesn’t prove it. I want you to come 
this afternoon, and I shall not take no for an answer. 
Good-bye.” And before Josephine could utter an- 
other word the connection was cut off and she heard 
nothing but the faint singing of the wire. 

It was almost nine o’clock, and Jo was obliged to 
hurry in order not to be late at her lessons. There 
was no opportunity to talk with Lilian until they were 
over at one o’clock, and then when Miss Wood had left 
them she told her. “ Have you been asked to go, too ?’’ 

“No,” replied Lilian. “ Of course, Katherine wouldn’t 
ask me to act. She knows how shy I am, and I should 
hate it, but you will probably have a lovely time.” She 
spoke bravely, ignoring the sharp pang that she felt at 
the thought of all that Josephine would be doing with- 
out her. “There is no one as dear as Katherine.” 

“Yes, it will be lovely, but there will be Violet! 
How shall I ever manage to get on with her? She 
is so stiff and haughty.” 

“Katherine will make up for it.” 

They chatted for a few minutes and then Josephine 
went home to luncheon. No allusion had been made 
to the difficulty of Saturday and both felt that it 
was now a matter of the past, but their very silence 


JOSEPHINE 


regarding it made a slight awkwardness. If each one 
had frankly spoken and they had then agreed to drop 
the subject the soreness would have healed more 
quickly, but they both made every effort to avoid it. 
Josephine was naturally very outspoken, but on this 
occasion she held her peace. , As she did not now 
wish to show Lilian the letter, there seemed to be noth- 
ing for her to say. 

The Blakes lived in a fine old house which had been 
in the possession of another family for several genera- 
tions, but which Mr. Blake had bought when he moved 
out to Stockton to live some ten years ago. At first 
they had returned to Boston to pass each winter, but 
they had now given up this custom and stayed in the 
country all the year round. The house was large, 
and, although it was really not far from the road, there 
was a thick wood between it and the passers-by which 
made it almost invisible. When Josephine went 
there once before to call on Violet she had not found 
her at home, and she had had but a glimpse through 
the open door of the beautiful hall and rooms filled 
with pictures and furnished in exquisite taste. 

A bright fire burned on the great hearth in the hall, 
and when Josephine went in there were already two 
girls there. Miss Blake came quickly forward, followed 
by Hannibal, the buH terrier. 

‘^You dear!’’ she exclaimed, cordially. ^^How good 
of you to come! I had set my heart on it and I should 
have been fearfully disappointed if you hadn’t.” 

She was a tall, slender young woman with clear, 
170 


JOSEPHINE 


gray eyes and a bright color, and she looked as a girl 
does whose life has been spent chiefly out-of-doors — 
on horseback or playing golf or on the river. Jo had 
decided long ago — that is, when she first camh to 
Stockton — that the person of all others whom she 
would prefer to resemble was Miss Katherine Blake. 

^‘Take off your things and draw up to the fire,’' she 
continued. ‘‘We are trying to settle everything before 
the boys come. They couldn’t get here until nearly 
five. Violet, here is Josephine.” 

Violet came slowly down the broad stairs as her 
sister spoke and shook hands with her usual freezing 
dignity. She was already taller than Katherine, and 
affected a stateliness of carriage which made her often 
seem the elder of the two. Then they joined the 
group at the fireside. Harriet Hoffman greeted Jo 
with her usual vivacity, and the other girl, whose name 
was Florence West, was introduced to her. Florence 
was a very demure little person, with large eyes and 
a light-brown braid of hair turned up with a black 
bow. 

“Now,” said Miss Blake, “we girls are all here 
and we can get things nicely settled. Jo, I told you 
we were going to have a play, and we are also thinking 
of something else in the same line — Mrs. Jarley’s 
waxworks.” 

“Such an arkhke thing to have!” said Violet. “I 
believe the only reason Katherine is unearthing it is 
because she wants to be Mrs. Jarley.” 

“Perfectly true,” said her sister. “I have always 
171 


JOSEPHINE 


been crazy to act Mrs. Jarley ever since I saw some one 
do it when I was a small child. Have you ever seen 
waxworks, Jo?’^ 

The girl from Seattle was obliged to confess that she 
had not. 

'^How extraordinary!’' said Violet, staring at her. 

Oh no,” put in Katherine. “ You say yourself they 
are old-fashioned, and we all know that Seattle is very 
modern and up to date. But you remember reading 
about Mrs. Jarley in Dickens, Jo?” 

“Oh yes. In Old Curiosity Shop, isn’t it?” 

“Yes. Mrs. Jarley is a great part, and, as Violet 
says, I am wild to act it. Then, too, it will give us a 
chance to have more of the girls and boys.” 

She did not teU her that there had been some dis- 
cussion before her coming. The play which had been 
chosen required but three girls, and Violet had insisted 
that Harriet, Florence, and herself should be the three. 
Although Katherine had been sure in her own mind that 
Josephine could act better than Florence West, who 
never by any chance could be made to forget herself, 
it had been impossible to say so in her presence, and 
Violet had carried the day. 

Several other girls came in, and when the boys 
arrived later they were a large and merry party. The 
business of assigning parts having been finished, some 
one suggested a dance, and they all went into the large 
music-room, and Katherine played for them. Josephine, 
who had a good ear for music and was fond of dancing, 
became a very popular partner. Billy and his friends 
172 


JOSEPHINE 


all danced with her, and, as she told Miss Blake when 
she bade her good-bye a little later, she “had never 
had such a good time.” 

“My dear, you shall have plenty more just such 
good times,” said Katherine, kissing her impulsively. 
“You are a dear, and I expect you to be my mainstay 
in the theatricals. Do you think Lilian could be 
induced to take part?” 

“I wish she could,” said Josephine, heartily. “She 
is so fond of you that perhaps she would do it if she 
thought it would please you.” 

“Do you think so?” Katherine’s face lighted up. 
“Is Lilian really so fond of me? How glad I am! 
She is so shy and reserved I have never been sure. 
Her bro — ^they are old friends of ours, you know. 
I will go there to-morrow and ask her, and I expect 
you to be on my side.” 

Billy and Josephine walked home together. 

“ You are beginning to like it here, aren’t you?” 
he said. 

“Indeed I do like it. I have had a lovely time this 
afternoon, and every one, at least nearly every one, 
is so kind. You have been so from the first, Billy, and 
I have appreciated it, I can tell you.” 

“Oh, there’s nothing to appreciate. I was glad 
you came. I like girls. I say, Jo — ” He paused. 

“What?” 

“I wish you wouldn’t mind about Brom. You 
have got to make allowances for a fellow being dif- 
ferent. We aren’t all the same about things, and I 
173 


JOSEPHINE 


think Brom is awfully cut up about having been so 
nasty over the snake business/^ 

^‘He may be cut up, but that doesn’t make him like 
our being here,” said Josephine. They had entered 
the gate and were going up the steps of the piazza. 
^'You know very well he can’t bear it, Billy.” She 
had opened the door and was in the house before Billy, 
who was somewhat slow of speech, could reply. 

It was a month later and the hohdays were already 
half over. On the evening of the day after Christmas 
the last rehearsal was to be held. The next night, 
Wednesday, the play and the waxworks were to be 
given at the Blakes’ house, and all the Stockton people 
were eagerly looking forward to the entertainment. 
About fifteen girls and boys were to take part, and 
Katherine Blake, who was stage manager, had been 
fully occupied during the past month. There had 
been the usual amount of fun and fighting, work 
and play, that invariably attend amateur theatricals, 
and more than once she had been sorely tempted to 
give it all up, so difficult was her position. 

“I don’t know why it is,” she said to Josephine, 
^^but there seems to be something about getting up 
a play that always makes me vow I never will again, 
and then I always go and do it. You may gather 
together the most amiable, meek-spirited, angelic peo- 
ple in the world, who have always existed in perfect 
harmony, bring them together in a play or tableaux, 
and they invariably begin to tear one another’s hair 
174 


JOSEPHINE 


out, so to speak. Everybody wants everybody else’s 
part and hates his own part, and each one comes to the 
poor stage-manager with his tale of woe. You and 
Billy are my only comfort. You have neither one of 
you, so far, made a complaint. But there is no 
knowing what even you may say or do during the 
next twenty-four hours. I sha’n’t be absolutely sure 
of you until all is over.^’ 

Josephine laughed. shouldn’t dare complain of 
being such an important person as Joan of Arc, and as 
for Billy, does he ever growl about anything?” 

Never!” said Katherine, emphatically. “Billy is 
a dear. Unutterably lazy about learning his part, or 
learning anything, but altogether dear. Jo, I am 
getting lazy myself, I do believe. I am as bad as 
Billy — or Hannibal. Look at him lying here sound 
asleep! Won’t you go to my desk and get me the 
list of waxworks? I am simply too tired to move 
from this sofa, and you are so young >and agile. I’m 
getting old, Jo. Twenty-six next week, and you are a 
mere infant of sixteen.” 

They were in her pretty sitting-room, and she was 
lying on the sofa, with the dog beside her. Josephine 
went to the desk. The rehearsal was to be in the 
evening, and Jo had been asked to come in the after- 
noon and stay to dinner. Miss Blake had become 
very fond of her, and she found her of great assist- 
ance, far more so than were Violet and the other 
girls. 

“Don’t you find it?” asked Katherine, presently. 

175 


JOSEPHINE 


“I thought it was right on top. Just rummage 
through everything there till you get it. A big sheet 
folded lengthwise, you know. You have seen it often 
enough.’^ 

Josephine did as she was bidden, and ^Yummaged.’^ 
Presently the fluttering of paper ceased and Katherine 
heard a faint exclamation of astonishment. 

^‘What is it?’^ she asked. “I suppose you are 
horrified at the untidy state of my desk. After the 
play is over Ifll put it in order. Can’t you find it? 
Must I get up?” 

^‘Miss Katherine, I hope you won’t mind,” said 
Josephine, coming slowly forward with something in 
her hand. ‘‘But could you — would you mind telling 
me who this is?” She stood behind the end of the 
sofa, and, leaning over, she held a small photograph 
before Miss Blake. 

“Why, Josephine!” exclaimed Katherine, snatching 
it from her. She started up, her cheeks flushed.' and 
her eyes showing a look of anger that Josephine had 
never seen in them. “Where did you find that? I 
didn’t ask you to open any of my drawers.” 

“I didn’t open them. It was among the papers you 
told me to look through. I beg your pardon. It 
looks like some one I know or I never should have 
asked. I — ^I was startled for a moment.’’ She was 
angry, too. 

Katherine was silent. Then she recovered herself 
quickly. “Of course,” she said. “I spoke withoiit 
thinking. It is a picture of an old friend of mine 
176 


JOSEPHINE 


which I usually keep out of sight with other relics. 
I don’t know how it got out. A man who used to be 
in Stockton, but he isn’t now.” She went to the desk 
and tossed the photograph into a drawer. don’t 
see where that list can be. Just look on the table 
over there, Jo, dear. I may have put it somewhere 
else, after all.” 

Josephine’s ill-humor vanished as quickly as it came, 
but she did not forget the photograph. It was the 
face of Mr. Jackson, the conductor, that she had seen. 
Miss Blake had probably known him during the 
mysterious time of his visit in Stockton. She must 
have known him very well to have a picture of him, 
and he certainly could not then have been a conductor; 
and yet this photograph looked as he did when Jose- 
phine saw him not so very long ago. It apparently 
had been taken within the last year or two. If Miss 
Blake had not been so annoyed she would have told 
her of her adventure on the train, and would have 
shown her the two letters. As it was, of course, she 
could say nothing. She had caught a glimpse of 
something written on the back of the photograph, and 
it seemed to her that the writing was similar to that 
of her note, but she could not be sure. 

They found the list at last, and Katherine seated 
herself on the sofa, spread the paper out, and began 
to study it. Presently she raised her head and looked 
at Josephine, who was sitting in a low chair near the 
fire. 

“I am a horrid crosspatch,” she said, smiling at her. 

177 


JOSEPHINE 


am so tired. Don’t mind my crossness, will you, 
Jo? Come, sit beside me. There, now. I’ll tell you 
something. I like you better than ever, because 
you didn’t ask any more questions and because you 
got over my rudeness so quickly. I am perfectly 
thankful that it was you and no one else who — who — 
to whom I was so disagreeable. Tell me whom you 
thought he looked like. You said, he reminded you 
of some one.” 

But before Josephine could reply the door was 
opened suddenly and Violet came into the room with 
more haste and less dignity than would have been 
thought possible. 

Katherine, what do you think has happened now?” 
she said. 

^H’m sure I don’t know, unless an epidemic of 
small-pox or some other pleasant ailment has broken 
out in the troupe. I am becoming inured to any- 
thing, so hurry up and name the worst.” 

Florence West has tjie mumps.” 

^Wiolet!” 

^^Yes. They have just telephoned. You know we 
told her her face was getting so fat. Mumps, of all 
things! What is to be done? Florence never was a 
bit considerate. I do think she might have waited 
just two days.” 

Josephine laughed outright. ^‘How could she?” 
Then she realized the gravity of the situation and 
controlled her unseasonable mirth. 

‘Ht is all very well to laugh,” said Violet, looking 
178 


JOSEPHINE 


at her severely, “but in the mean time the play is 
falling through. If you were in it, of course you would 
feel the importance of it more. Katherine, you 
haven’t said a word.’! 

“Because I can’t,” groaned her sister. “Jo, kindly 
remove yourself and let me lie down. Hannibal, of 
course you are in the best place. This is the un- 
kindest cut of all. This is what I should call hitting 
a fellow when he is down. As if we hadn’t trouble 
enough without a visitation of mumps! Small-pox 
would be better, in a way, because that would have 
been a serious affair, but there is something so ludicrous 
about mumps and yet so effectual. And prim, proper 
little Florence of all people! Oh, please forgive me, 
Violet! If I don’t laugh I shall surely cry.” 

“I do think you are very provoking, Katherine. 
You never can be serious about anything.” She 
stood at the foot of the lounge and looked down at her 
sister with unmitigated scorn. “What are you going 
to do?” 

“I am sure I don’t know. Give it up, I suppose. 
What else?” Katherine’s laughter ceased and she 
was soon serious enough to satisfy even Violet. “It 
is very provoking. Again I vow I will never have 
anything more to do with getting up a play. Of 
course no one could learn the part in this short time. 
I don’t think Florence was very good in it, but we 
certainly can’t have it without her. We shall have 
to think of something to have instead. More wax- 
works, or charades, or — something. Do sit down, 

t3 179 


JOSEPHINE 


Violet. You look so tall and severe standing there 
and glowering at me. I am not responsible for 
Florence’s mumps, as one would think from your 
expression. What is it, Jo? You look as if you had 
thought of something. Speak, my child! Speak 
quickly and relieve our anguished minds!” 

“It is a crazy idea,” said Josephine, “and you 
needn’t pay any attention to it if you don’t want to. 
I should probably spoil the whole thing, for you know 
I have never acted, but I really know Florence’s part 
very well. I have been at so many of the rehearsals 
of the play, and my memory is pretty good. I — ” 

Katherine sprang to her feet and threw her arms 
around Josephine, and even Violet looked relieved. 
“You dear child! Of course! You can do it perfect- 
ly. I wanted you to have the part from the first, for 
I knew you could act. You certainly have come to 
our rescue, and I shall never forget it.” 

“But do you really think I can do it? It would 
be worse to spoil it than to give up the play.” 

“Don’t mention spoiling. You will be the success 
of the evening. Violet, run for a copy of the play, 
and we’ll shut her up with it. Half an hour yet 
before dinner, and after dinner there will be another 
half-hour before the others come. Oh, Jo, how I 
love you! Come, Hannibal! Dinner!” 

They closed the door and left her there alone, assur- 
ing her that she should not be disturbed until the clock 
struck seven. It was now half-past six. Josephine 
opened her book and began to study the part of Marie. 

180 


JOSEPHINE 


It was that of a maid-servant with not very much to 
say, but a part which permitted plenty of action. 
Florence West had read the lines in a small, demure 
voice, and Jo more than once as she watched her had 
wished that she could have had the part. She was 
sure that it would be improved by a little more life 
and animation. She found that she was already 
letter-perfect and that no study would be necessary. 
She had heard Florence go over and over it many 
times, and she had herself been prompter more than 
once at the informal rehearsals. She now tried the 
action. 

‘^1 believe I can do it,^.! she said to herself, ^^and 
without a bit of study. Oh, what fun! I am sorry 
for Florence’s disappointment, but it is great good 
luck for me, and Miss Katherine will be so pleased.” 

Her eyes fell upon the desk. The drawer in which 
the photograph had been placed was slightly open. 
It was a mere crack, but it showed the drawer. ^^Oh!” 
exclaimed Josephine, half aloud. Then she sat and 
stared at it. 

How very easy it would be to open the drawer ! The 
picture was lying right at the top, of that she was 
certain. Right at the top, and a mere glance would 
probably suffice. Of course. Miss Blake would not 
like it, but then she would never know. After all, 
what harm would there be in it? If Miss Blake had 
not left it carelessly among her papers, if she had not 
asked her to search among those papers, Josephine 
would not have known of its existence. Surely Miss 
181 


JOSEPHINE 


Katherine could not care very much if she had done 
this. Then, too, she did not know how important 
it was for Josephine to trace the identity of R. Jackson, 
or she would have let her examine the picture. That 
handwriting was very familiar. Just a little rapid 
glance would tell her whether she was right or wrong. 
She drew nearer the desk. She stood with her hands 
that held the play-book clasped behind her and 
gazed at the drawer. It was very still in the room. 
The clock ticked quietly, the fire on the hearth made a 
faint singing; outside the winter wind moaned in the 
pine-trees and the sound of jingling sleigh-bells came 
from the high-road beyond the trees. Presently they 
had vanished in the distance. The ticking of the 
clock became more audible and Jo glanced at it. 
There were yet ten minutes. At seven Katherine and 
Violet were to return. Plenty of time to open the 
drawer, pick up the picture, look at it on both sides, 
and return it to its place, close the drawer, go back 
to her seat, and resume her study. It would be very 
easy, and it was so important for her to see it. She 
moved a step nearer. 

“But why is it important?’/ a voice seemed to say. 
It seemed so real a voice that she started and looked 
around. There was no one there. She turned and 
crossed the room, seeking a seat in the remotest 
corner. 

“Josephine Hale,” she said to herself, “I am 
ashamed of you. Actually on the verge of opening a 
drawer in some one’s desk and looking at something 
182 


% 


JOSEPHINE 


which was deliberately hidden there that you might 
not see it ! Miss Katherine has some reason for 
keeping that picture secret. What difference does 
it make to you if it is the conductor and if you find 
that the writing is the same? There is nothing to be 
done. It is of no importance who R. Jackson is. You 
who were so angry with Lilian because she wanted 
^ to see the address on your letter! And now you, who 
have been secretly scorning her ever since for what 
you called her curiosity, are a million times worse. 
I am thankful you stopped in time. A little more and 
you would have opened that drawer !”. She covered her 
face with her hands and shuddered. ‘^You could 
never have looked Miss Katherine in the face 
again.’! 

She rose and walked back to her former seat by 
the lamp, not glancing at the desk. She picked up 
her book, which she had dropped, and once more went 
over her part. In a few minutes the door opened and 
Katherine came in. 

^‘Time’s up,” she said, in her gay voice. “Have 
you learned any of it?” 

“I know it all,”, said Jo. “I scarcely had to study 
it at all.” 

“Good! Oh, I am so delighted! I feel sure, Jo, 
that you are going to save the play. You are a dear 
child and I love you.” 

“You won’t love me so much when I tell you some- 
thing,” said Josephine, speaking very hurriedly. “I 
am perfectly ashamed of myself, and feel as badly as 
183 




JOSEPHINE 


if I had done it. I had no idea I was such a — such 
a dishonorable person.’^ 

dear child, what do you mean?” asked Kath- 
erine, anxiously. “I don’t understand you at all.” 

“I will tell you. I came very near opening the 
drawer in your desk and looking at the photograph. 
I am sure it is the picture of a young man who was 
very kind to us on the journey East, and I had a note 
from him since, and the writing on the back of your 
picture — I didn’t read it, I only had a glimpse of it 
when you took it, but it seemed to be like my note, 
and I was crazy to see if it was the same. There is no 
real reason for my knowing; only idle curiosity. 
Fortunately, I realized in time how odious I was, and 
I didn’t open the drawer, but I was so near doing it 
that it amounts to the same thing, and I am thoroughly 
ashamed. Why, Miss Katherine, can’t you forgive me ? 
Well, I deserve it.” 

^^No, no!” exclaimed Katherine. ^Ht’s not that. 
You are very honest — very honorable — to tell me, but, 
Jo — ^you say you met him on the journey? Where? 
Oh, do tell me — hush, not a word. And you have 
learned your part already?” 

Josephine stared at her in astonishment. Katherine, 
facing the mirror, had seen Violet approaching. “Jo 
knows it perfectly, Vi. Isn’t it splendid? Come, 
dinner is ready, and afterwards we will see what stuff 
you are made of.” She slipped her hand through the 
younger girl’s arm and they went down-stairs. “I 
can scarcely wait,” she whispered. “Oh, Jo, you 
184 


JOSEPHINE 


were a dear to tell me, and you were still dearer not 
to open the drawer. I am afraid I should have done 
it under the same circumstances.’^ 

“Oh no, Miss Katherine,” said Josephine, eagerly. 
“I am sure you wouldn’t have looked.” 


XIII 


Lilian’s father 

HERE was no opportunity that evening 
for further conversation on the subject. 
The other members of the company 
arrived before the Blakes had finished 
dinner, and the rehearsal began im- 
mediately afterwards. Rumors of 
Florence West’s unfortunate illness had already flown 
about Stockton, and her friends were all wondering 
what was to be done. It was a great relief to find 
that a substitute had so easily been found for her, and 
Billy Hale, especially, was very well pleased with the 
outcome. 

^^You are worth ten of her,” he said, in a cousinly 
aside to Josephine. “Florence is always Florence. 
Dress her in a lion’s skin and tell her to roar, and she 
would still be little Florence West.” 

Josephine laughed. “You make me roar, but not 
in the same way. Imagine Florence doing the part of 
a lion! But am I really a good Marie, Billy? You 
know I have never acted in my life.” 

“You’ve got it in you, and that is all that is neces- 
sary. I am as proud of you as I can be,” replied 
186 



JOSEPHINE 


Billy, looking very handsome in his uniform. He was 
acting the part of an army officer and was resplendent 
in gold lace and brass buttons. This was a dress 
rehearsal, and they were all in costume but Josephine. 

“But all you need is a fancy apron,’’ said Harriet 
Hoffman. “ Any old dress will do for a maid. Your 
black one is just the thing.” She was herself in a long, 
trailing gown of her sister’s and felt very well satisfied 
with her appearance. Until to-night she had been 
the star of the company, and she was not altogether 
pleased with Josephine’s instant success. “Do be 
careful not to overact,” she added. “I do so dislike 
plays where the maid makes herself too conspicuous. 
I have seen ever so many spoiled by that; haven’t 
you, Billy?” 

“There is no danger of that with our little maid,” 
said Katherine Blake, who was nearer than Harriet 
had supposed; “and, besides, Harriet, when you are 
on the stage I am sure you will allow the audience to 
have eyes for no one else.” 

Katherine was tired, and she had had reason before 
to feel some annoyance with Harriet. Billy laughed, 
and this added to Harriet’s discomfiture. She was 
very angry. 

“What on earth do you mean?” she asked, in her 
sweetest voice. “ How can I help it ? I hate the idea 
of attracting too much attention. I once saw you 
act, Katherine, and it seemed to me you were always 
taking 'the centre of the stage, as they say. Others 
noticed it, too. Do I do that?” Katherine moved 
187 


JOSEPHINE 


away. “That told/^ whispered Harriet to Billy. 
“She is awfully upset over something, you can see. 
Katherine has never been the same since — ” 

The rest of her remark was inaudible to Josephine. 
It was impossible to help wondering what Harriet 
meant. Since what? And certainly Katherine had 
seemed unusually tired and nervous this evening. 
Could the matter of the photograph have affected her 
so seriously? But there was no time now for further 
speculation, for the actors were called to take their 
places and the evening was spent in hard work. 

There had been two somewhat heavy snow-storms, 
and the sleighing was excellent. The doctor had 
promised to send for Billy and Josephine, and when 
the rehearsal was at last over they found that their 
sleigh had been waiting for some time. 

“Brom is driving, and he’s as mad as a hatter at 
having to wait,” said Billy, who had been out to 
investigate. “Hurry into your things, Jo. We’ll take 
some of the crowd down. Who wants a lift ?”. 

There were several applicants, and after a hasty 
good-night to the Blakes they piled into the sleigh, 
three on a seat. Josephine found herself in front with 
Bromfield, who, as Billy had implied, was in anything 
but a good humor. Harry Sherman, who was a 
friend of the boys, was also in front. 

“You ought to see your cousin, Brom,’! said he. 
“She is going to cut us all out.” 

“You must all want something to do pretty badly,” 
growled Bromfield. “I can’t imagine staying in a 
188 


JOSEPHINE 


hot house and ranting at each other when you could 
have this/^. He waved his whip towards the snow- 
fields lying white and still beneath the Christmas moon. 

^Ht is rather foolish/^ said Josephine. “I believe 
you are right, Brom.” 

He was so surprised at her acquiescence that his ill- 
humor vanished. Would you like to take a sleigh- 
ride now?” he asked, eagerly. 

^‘Oh, could we?” 

Without a word he turned away from home and 
they were soon speeding over the road in quite a 
different direction, and it was at least half an hour 
later when they drew up at the house where two of 
the party lived. Finally only the Hales were left in 
the sleigh, and now they were turning in at the gate. 
The shadow upon the window of 'the stone house was 
moving to and fro as usual. 

“How very strange that is,” said Josephine, half 
under her breath. “Poor Mrs. Thayer! Do you 
suppose her son will ever come home?” 

“He ought to,” said Brom. “Father was sent for 
to go in there to-night. He didn’t say anything when 
he got back, of course, but he looked worried, and I 
have an idea things are going pretty wrong there.” 

Josephine thought of Lilian. She had seen very 
little of her since the holidays began. In fact, 
the waxworks and the play had absorbed so much 
of her spare time lately that she and Lilian had been 
scarcely together at all. She would certainly go in to 
see her the next day. 


189 


JOSEPHINE 


She did so, and found Lilian in her room. 

^‘You haven’t heard the great news!” exclaimed 
Josephine. Florence West has the mumps and I 
am to take her part in the play. Isn’t it exciting? I 
shall depend upon you to tell me just how I do it.” 

“I shall not be there.” 

'^Do you mean you are not coming?” 

‘^Yes, that is what I mean.” 

“Well, I do think it is too bad.” 

“I don’t believe it makes any real difference to you.” 

“Lilian! You are the most provoking person! 
There, do excuse me. I know you are tired and 
worried. That is the very reason I want you to come 
to-night. I am sure you will enjoy it. The wax- 
works are going to be very funny, and I want you to 
be there to tell me how I do Joan of Arc and Marie. 
Please come, Lilian dear!” 

“I really don’t want to go very much. Mamma is 
so miserable and everything is so sad. I feel out of 
place when I am with other people who are happy and 
gay and have nothing to worry them. It is much 
better for me to keep by myself.” 

“Oh, don’t say that. It doesn’t seem quite right.” 

“It is true. I am one of those who are not intended 
to be happy. I might just as well make up my mind 
to it. You are one of the happy ones.” 

Josephine was silent for a minute. It was dif- 
ficult to know just what to say. She was young and 
ignorant, and yet some intuition told her that this 
was not the way to meet sorrow. 

190 


JOSEPHINE 

“Do you think you know?’! she said, at last. 

“Know what?” 

“That you are going to have nothing but trouble. 
We don’t know what may be coming. I know your 
life has been very sad, but good things may happen 
just as well as bad. For all you know there may be 
something nice waiting for you just around the corner.” 

“It is not very probable.” Lilian spoke rather 
bitterly. “It is more likely to be another trouble.” 

“But there is no harm in hoping for something nice,”, 
protested Jo. “It won’t affect what is coming one 
way or the other, and it is so much better to hope for 
something good than to be so certain of the worst.” 

“It is easy for you to say that. You take things 
more easily than I do. Everybody likes you, every- 
thing seems to go smoothly for you. It is easy for you 
to make friends. You are not shy and reserved, as I 
am. You don’t realize at all how hard it is for me 
to meet people and talk to them. The only person 
I have ever known whom I could give myself to with 
all my heart doesn’t — seem — to care — much about it.” 
Her voice trembled and her eyes filled with tears. 

Josephine struggled to overcome the impatience 
which she could not help feeling. She was so unlike 
Lilian in disposition and temperament that it was 
difficult sometimes to make due allowance for her ex- 
treme sensitiveness, which often reached morbidness. 

“Of course you mean me,” said Jo, as usual going 
to the heart of the matter. “I do care very much, 
but I can’t quite understand your thinking that I 
191 


JOSEPHINE 


ought only to be with you all the time and with no one 
else. Even though you are my dearest friend — and 
you are, Lilian — I like to see other people, too, and it 
would be better for you to see other people. Surely 
our hearts are big enough to hold more than one friend. 
I suppose you haven’t hked it because I have been 
going to the Blakes’ so much lately. You were asked 
to be in the waxworks, and could have been going there 
too, but you wouldn’t do it. I don’t see why I should 
give up so much fun just because you were too shy 
to go yourself and don’t want me to go without you. 
And you needn’t think you are the only girl that has 
any troubles. Other people have them. Don’t you 
think it has been hard not to have my own mother? 
My stepmother has always been kind to us, but she 
is different and she has always been very trying. And 
it was terrible to have my dear father die and leave 
us all. And then for Georgie and me to come half 
across the world to live with people we had never 
seen before! Oh, Lilian, how can you say you are 
the only one who has had troubles?” 

“I know you have had them.” Lilian spoke slowly. 
^^You have had them, but they haven’t lasted. You 
have grown used to being here, and your uncle is good 
to you, and about your father and mother — I should 
think people could make up their minds to death. 
It is terrible to think of, but it comes and you have 
to bear it, but when sad things that are not death 
happen they affect every little thing in your every- 
day life, and you have to go on bearing them but 
192 


JOSEPHINE 


wishing all the time they could be different. It is so 
trying, Jo, day after day, with never any change. To 
have to live a life that hasn’t any fun in it. I like fun. 
I am just as fond of it as any one, but I have never 
had any. Ever since I can remember things have 
been strange and queer in our house. You see papa 
is so reserved, and — and — oh, Jo, I am so proud of 
him, and I do love him so, but I don’t think he cares 
for me.” 

“Lilian!” 

“I know it is a dreadful thing to say, and I wouldn’t 
say it to any one but you, but I feel that it is true. 
I would do anything in the world .to please papa. I 
don’t believe he realizes that I care for him so much. 
You see, he has his own work and so he doesn’t need 
us.” 

Josephine scarcely knew what to reply. Again she 
followed a certain blind intuition. “It is very hard 
for you, dear. I wish I could help you. I am so 
glad you don’t have to worry about money. It must 
be a great thing to have so much and be able to have a 
good nurse for your mother, and so many comforts 
and all that. You say things are worse than death, 
and yet I am sure you would rather have your brother 
somewhere in the world, even though you don’t know 
where he is, than to have him die.” 

Lilian shuddered. “Oh yes!” she exclaimed. “I 
spoke without thinking.” 

“And about your father caring for you — of course 
he must. Fathers always love their children, unless 
193 


JOSEPHINE 


they are very bad men, and yours isn’t that. It seems 
to me you don’t have enough faith in people. You 
think I. don’t care for you, but I really do. And 
it is probably the same way with your father. He is' 
so cold and reserved he can’t show it, perhaps, but of 
course he loves you.” Josephine was very much in 
earnest and her manner was convincing. 

Lilian looked at her. Then after a few minutes she 
said: ^‘Oh, if I thought that was true how happy I 
should be ! If he would say something to me sometimes 
or be interested in what I am doing I might believe it, 
but he doesn’t seem to care.” 

They were interrupted by a knock upon the door. 
It was Miss Eaton, the trained nurse, who came to 
ask Lilian to stay with her mother for an hour while 
she herself rested. 

“Won’t you be at the Blakes’ to-night to please me?” 
asked Josephine, as she left her. “It will make such 
a difference in my acting and in my pleasure if I see 
you in the audience, and I know Miss Katherine wants 
you very much. She said so.” 

“I will see how things are,” said Lilian. “Perhaps 
I will come.” 

Josephine went slowly down-stairs. It was a very 
beautiful house, and she, whose love of beauty was in- 
tense, felt as she had often felt before in that house, 
that luxurious surroundings must surely help people 
to bear their troubles. It did not occur to her that 
perhaps those who have never known anything else 
do not find the same compensation in their possession. 

194 


JOSEPHINE 


She paused for a moment to look at a portrait which 
hung in the hall. It was one of Lilian’s grandmother, 
and she had always admired it. 

“You lovely creature/’ she said, aloud. “I wonder 
if you had any troubles?” 

“I think she had,” said a voice behind her. 

Josephine turned and found to her astonishment 
that Mr. Thayer was standing there. The library 
door was open and his footsteps had made no sound 
on the heavy rugs. His face as he looked at his 
mother’s portrait had grown softer. 

“She lived to be fifty. She was only seventeen when 
that was painted. She was always beautiful. My moth- 
er, you know. Yes, she had troubles. Who has not?” 

He moved away. In a moment he would be gone. 
Josephine never could understand afterwards how it 
happened. She was amazed at her own temerity 
after it was all over. Without stopping to think she 
followed him to the threshold of his library. 

“Mr. Thayer, may I say something to you? I am 
quite worried about Lilian. I think she is getting 
morbid. She is so much alone, you know, without 
any young people. I want her to come to the theatri- 
cals at the Blakes’ to-night. I am sure it will do her 
good. I am going to act and I want her to be there.” 

“Of course she can go. Are you asking my per- 
mission?” His voice was so chilling and his ex- 
pression of offended surprise so great that Josephine 
almost turned and fled; but, holding on to her 
courage with both hands, she stood her ground. 

^4 195 


JOSEPHINE 


“I think if you said something to her about it she 
would be more apt to go. Mr. Thayer, she cares so 
much what you say, and — and — Lilian is so lonely. 
I am worried about her. I am. afraid she will be ill 
if she keeps on this way. Won’t you say something 
to her and ask her to come to-night ?” 

He stood with his hand on the door. Josephine, with 
her head a little thrown back, looked him straight in 
the eyes. She seemed to be absolutely without fear. 
He did not know that her hands were trembling and 
that it required all her self-control to keep her voice 
from shaking and to look at him so steadfastly. He 
liked her courage. He was well aware that he was 
apt to inspire fear and dislike, and it had always 
annoyed him, although he made no effort against it. 
He felt distinctly pleased now to find himself con- 
fronted by this fearless young girl. 

^‘If she is lonely why are you not with her more?” 

‘‘But I can’t be, Mr. Thayer. You know I have 
a little sister, and, besides, I can’t be always here. 
If you would talk sometimes to Lilian it would be 
better for her than anything else in the world. She 
is perfectly devoted to you, and oh, it is so nice to 
have a father! It seems such a waste to have a fa- 
ther and to see so little of him. My father is dead, 
you know. Please excuse me for detaining you so 
long.” 

She turned away. 

“Wait,” he said. “You are Dr. Hale’s niece, aren’t 
you?” 


196 


JOSEPHINE 


^^Yes.” 

“I should think so. You have his courage. Do 
you know what you have been doing 

“I am afraid — 

Don’t say you are afraid. That is just what you 
are not. That is just what he is not. You are ahke. 
You have been reading me a lecture on my duties as a 
father.” He laughed rather grimly. ‘‘On the whole, 
I think perhaps I need it. Come and take dinner with 
us sometimes. Good-morning.” 

He closed the library door. Josephine ran nearly 
all the way home. 

“What have I done and what did I say?” she 
thought. “But he couldn’t have minded, for he 
asked me to come to dinner. What a strange, odd 
man! And yet there is something about him that I 
like. Yes, I really do. I believe if people would only 
go at him in the right way he would be different. I 
suppose Lilian is too much afraid of him, and perhaps 
the brother was, too, though I should hate to think 
that Jack Thayer was without courage. No, it 
couldn’t have been that. With him I suppose it was 
temper. Oh, dear me, how criss-cross everything 
goes in there!” 

As she reached her uncle’s door it was opened and 
Mrs. Sparks came out. From her attire and the fact 
that she carried a “Boston bag” it was evident that she 
was going to town on a shopping expedition. Her 
face, too, wore the harassed expression that be- 
tokened anxiety to catch a train. 

197 


JOSEPHINE 


thought you’d never come home!” she exclaimed. 
“Don’t let those children out of your sight while I’m 
gone. They’ll be up to some mischief as sure as 
anything, and Bridget has the day laid out for her. 
She can’t attend to ’em. If you don’t look after ’em, 
like as not I’ll come home and find the house burned to 
the ground or something. I always do when I go to 
Boston.” 

She hurried away without telling Jo that Miss 
Katherine Blake had telephoned to her asking her to 
come to see her that morning. 

It was a fine day and Josephine did not feel like 
staying in-doors. The snow was dazzling in the winter 
sunshine, the tall, graceful spires of the two white 
churches and the leafless branches of the elm -trees 
stood out in sharp relief against the blue sky. The 
air was frosty and exhilarating, and the sound of 
sleigh-bells made her long for a ride. Georgie and 
Chippy were not to be found when she went into the 
house, and the absence of all the sleds from their 
usual place suggested that they were coasting. The 
older boys had made their plans at the breakfast-table, 
and she supposed they were all on a certain hill not 
far out of the village. She walked over to join them, 
and was, therefore, not at home when Katherine tele- 
phoned for the second time. Bridget, who thought 
messages were of no importance unless they were for 
the doctor, failed to deliver it, and therefore Josephine 
heard nothing of it. It was merely a small happening, 
but, as after events proved, it was important. 

198 


XIV 


THE THEATRICALS — AND HANNIBAL 

HE evening came at last, the evening 
so long awaited and for which such 
preparations had been made. Sleigh 
after sleigh drew up at the Blakes’ 
door, and by eight o’clock the large 
drawing-room was filled with spectators, 
who laughed and talked and looked with impatience 
at the green curtain which hung across the entrance to 
a small room at one end. This small room was well 
adapted for a stage, and a platform two or three feet 
high had been built here, thus allowing the audience 
in all parts of the room to see the performance without 
difficulty. Footlights gave a theatrical touch to the 
arrangements, and in fact everything had been done to 
make the affair go off smoothly and successfully. 
In the front row sat Bromfield, Roger, and Chippy, 
with a number of the younger boys and girls. All 
of the older ones were to be in the waxworks, and were 
therefore at present invisible. Lilian Thayer was in 
the second row. Josephine, peeping through a con- 
venient crack in the curtain, could see her plainly, and 
was greatly pleased. She would have been still more 
199 



JOSEPHINE 


pleased if she had known that Mr. Thayer had spoken 
to Lihan about it and had urged her to go. He had 
said only a few words, and had said them haltingly and 
stiffly, but they had been sufficient. 

Behind the scenes intense excitement reigned. 
Katherine Blake, as Mrs. Jarley, in a flowered dress, 
a Paisley shawl, and a large poke-bonnet, flew about, 
directing, counselling, beseeching. Here stood the 
girl that was to be pursued by an Indian, but the 
Indian was nowhere to be seen. Sir Walter Raleigh, 
who was to spread his cloak in the mud for Queen 
Elizabeth, could not find his cloak. Queen Elizabeth’s 
ruff refused to stand upright, and the woman who 
danced herself to death was in slippers that were 
too small for her and refused to be comforted. It was 
Harriet Hoffman, and she sat in a corner slyly shpping 
the slippers off at the heels and wondering how she 
could endure the anguish of dancing. But in some 
mysterious manner all these difficulties were cleared 
away, and it was not very long after eight o’clock when 
the bell rang and the curtain rose upon Mrs. Jarley and 
her wonderful waxwork show. It was very funny, and 
the audience laughed immoderately from beginning 
to end of the performance. The characters who at 
the rehearsals had seemed quite hopeless, inspired by 
the spirit of the occasion, came out among the best. 
Katherine thought of so many amusing speeches which 
were not in the lines that her company could hardly 
keep their faces straight, and even the face of the 
dancing woman in the tight shoes lost its look of 
200 


JOSEPHINE 


anguish when Mrs. Jarley gravely assured the audience 
that the longer she danced the smaller grew her feet, so 
that every year they were obliged to supply the 
“figger” with new ones, and to allow for growing small 
the shoes were made very tight in the beginning. 

Then the curtain fell and the stage was rearranged 
for the play. This, too, went off remarkably well, and 
no one would have supposed that there had been 
hitches and disappointments, that Josephine had 
taken the part only the day before, and that up to the 
last minute no one could be sure that Billy would not 
break down or that Harry Sherman would not have 
an attack of stage-fright. After the play came supper, 
and at last the sleighs assembled at the door and the 
audience went home. The Hales’ sleigh had taken 
home the doctor and the younger children and was to 
return for Billy, Bromfield, Josephine, and Lilian 
Thayer. Mr. and Mrs. Blake were in the library, and 
the young people, including Harriet Hoffman, were 
at the piano in the music-room when Katherine called 
Josephine aside. 

“You didn’t come,” she said. 

“Come where?” 

“Didn’t you get my message? I telephoned twice 
this morning asking you to come have that little talk. 
I wanted so much — to — to speak of what we talked 
of yesterday.” 

“Oh, I never heard of it,” exclaimed Josephine. 
“And I could have come just as well as not. Miss 
Katherine. I have been out coasting nearly all day.” 

201 


JOSEPHINE 

They were standing in the hall at the foot of the 
stairs. 

“Come to-morrow, then. We will have a good, 
quiet morning. And won’t you please call me Kather- 
ine? I have been intending to ask you for some 
time. I know I am ten years older, but what of 
that ?” 

“What, indeed?” asked Josephine, giving her a hug. 
“I should love to.” 

“I am sorry to interrupt this affecting scene,” 
drawled Billy, “ but I am told to speed the parting guest. 
In other words, Jo, it is time to go home.” He paused 
and sniffed the air. “ ‘ Fee-f o-fi-fum ! — I smell’ — not 
Hhe blood of an English munj but something mighty 
like smoke.” 

“So do I,” exclaimed Bromfield, who had joined 
them. “Hadn’t we better look it up?” Without 
waiting for a reply he ran half-way up the stairs. “It 
is very strong. There is certainly something burning.” 

The others followed, and there was soon no doubt 
that something was on fire. 

“It is my room,” cried Katherine. “Look at the 
smoke coming out from under the door. And I hear a 
crackling.” 

Without stopping to think, she opened the door and 
was nearly blinded by the mass of smoke that poured 
out. The sudden draught increased the blaze, and the 
room seemed full of flame. Billy thrust her aside and 
shut the door quickly. 

“Run! — give the alarm!” he said. “Telephone to 
202 


JOSEPHINE 


the engine-house in the village. Quick! And call 
the men. There is a hose somewhere, isnT there?’’ 

They dashed down-stairs and gave the alarm, and 
in a moment the house was a scene of wild confusion. 
There was delay in getting the telephone connection; 
the men when summoned from the stable had dif- 
ficulty in adjusting the hose; the deep snow impeded 
their movements, as well as those of the firemen from 
the village. It seemed as if the engines would never 
reach the place, and in the mean time the blaze was 
spreading. They soon found that it was impossible 
to remain up-stairs, and so they tried to save some of 
the furniture and the beautiful articles with which 
the rooms on the first floor were filled. Hurriedly 
they carried these things out, and, placing them on the 
snow, they hastened back for more. With a sick heart 
Katherine saw the flames bursting from her windows. 

shall never see anything in my room again,” she 
thought. “My dear, dear room! My books and 
pictures! Oh, what is that?’! 

A dismal howl was heard above the whistling wind 
and the roar of the flames. 

“It is Hannibal!” she cried, aloud. “I never 
thought of him. I shut him up in the third story to 
get him out of the way of the people. Oh, my dear, 
dear dog! To think that I forgot you! Jack’s dog!” 

She ran into the house. She had reached the back 
stairs when Brom, who had also heard the howling, 
overtook her. Seizing her roughly by the arms, he 
drew her back. 


203 


JOSEPHINE 


^^You are not going,” said he. will go. Which 
room ?” 

Third story; the door faces these stairs. Brom, 
don’t go. You mustn’t — for — for a dog.” 

He did not answer. He had caught up one of the 
wet towels which they had been using, and, winding it 
around his mouth and nostrils, he was already fighting 
his way through the blinding smoke. 

shall never get back,” he said to himself. 

He managed to reach the third floor, for the fire was 
as yet confined to the front of the house, but the smoke 
was suffocating. He had no difficulty in finding the 
room, for Hannibal’s howls were loud and heartrending. 
The dog was well aware of danger. Brom opened the 
door, and, thrusting himself in, he closed it quickly, 
for he knew that Hannibal would, if possible, make his 
escape and dash down into the fire, maddened by 
fright. In the room there was comparatively little 
smoke. He ran to the window, and, throwing it open, 
he breathed the pure, cold air. He leaned out and 
looked down. He was far above the ground, which 
sloped abruptly here, for the house was on a hill, and 
below him was a thick clump of trees which hid the 
kitchen yard from the driveway at the side. He 
saw his friends standing beyond the trees, looking 
up with anxious faces, and he saw two men run towards 
the stable. He supposed they were going for a ladder. 
If not — he measured the distance with his eye — ^he 
must jump, he supposed. He could not go down 
through the house, of that he was certain. But could 
204 


JOSEPHINE 


he take Hannibal down a ladder — Hannibal, for whose 
life he had risked his own? The dog’s face looked 
human in its agony as he sat and begged for help and 
the next moment flung himself at the window or 
dashed with wailing barks about the room. 

It seemed to be a sort of store-room, for there were 
trunks there and some boxes and a market-basket. 
The gas was burning, probably for Hannibal’s benefit, 
and Brom’s quick eye discovered three or four trunk- 
straps hanging over a hook. He hurriedly fastened 
them together. 

They’ll hold!” he exclaimed. ^‘Now if I can only 
get him into that basket!” 

It was not easy. The bull- terrier 'was heavy and 
was rendered frantic by fear. He did not bite, for in 
spite of his terror he did not lose his love for man, and 
he knew that Brom was a friend, but he scratched and 
struggled, jumped out when safely in, and fought 
against confinement. At last Brom, who was very 
strong and equally determined, succeeded in im- 
prisoning him, tying down the lid of the basket with 
a bit of heavy twine which he happened to have in his 
pocket; and in the mean time the roar of the flames 
sounded nearer and smoke crept through the cracks 
of the door. He had lost much time. He fastened 
the end of the line of straps to the basket, the other 
he tied to the handle of a heavy trunk which stood 
near the window. There seemed to be nothing else 
that would hold. Then he leaned out and shouted: 

“Be ready! Here he comes!” In his excitement 
205 


JOSEPHINE 


he actually forgot his own danger. Would the 
straps hold? What a heavy weight the dog was! 
He stood back from the window now and lowered the 
basket, paying out the strap foot by foot. Suddenly 
it ceased to run out. It creaked with the dead weight 
at the other end. He looked out. 

‘^Ah! Here come the men with the ladder, run- 
ning.'' He leaned out and watched them. They 
had difficulty getting it through the trees. pity 
to let cedars grow right there. There, they have set 
it up against the house. What a very little ladder! It 
only reaches to the second story. But they’ve got him.” 

^^Come down yourself!” they shouted. “Come 
down the straps! The hook and ladder hasn’t got 
here yet. Don’t wait a minute and don’t try to come 
through the house.” 

He felt the straps and shook his head. They had 
been strained with the weight of Hannibal, and one 
of them seemed to be old. The handle of the trunk 
to which he had fastened them was not particularly 
strong. But what else was to be done? Where was 
the “hook and ladder”? Stuck in the snow-drifts, 
probably. Brom thought it all over very calmly. 
Then he climbed out of the window, and hand over 
hand he lowered himself. He was within a foot of the 
ladder when the trunk handle in the room above gave 
way. The men who were holding the ladder caught 
him as he came down and broke the force of the fall, 
but his knee was given an ugly twist and he found that 
he could not stand. Billy held him in his arms. 

206 


JOSEPHINE 


^^Bromr' he whispered. ^‘Brom, old boy!’! It was 
all he could say, but Billy never in his after-life forgot 
the anguish of those minutes when he had watched 
his brother at that upper window. 

‘‘Brom, how can I ever forgive myself?’! said 
Katherine, with a white face. ^‘It was all my fault. 
The fire itself is due to my carelessness. I left the 
window open by the gashght.” 

Josephine stood beside him, but said nothing. She 
had lived a year of agony during the really short time 
in which she had watched him at the window and as 
he came down the side of the house. She had not 
realized until then how fond she was of Brom. He 
had been very different lately. He had tried in many 
uncouth, queer little ways to atone for his former 
rudeness and dislike, but she had received his ad- 
vances with coldness. He was the only person towards 
whom she had ever felt so lasting an unfriendliness. 
While she watched him in his danger this had fallen 
away, and she knew that he was the cousin for whom 
she really cared the most. 

They carried him to the nearest neighbor’s, where 
Mrs. Blake had already taken refuge, and now the 
others were glad to seek shelter there, for the night 
was cold. The fire was now beyond control, for the 
few engines which Stockton could provide had arrived 
too late to stop its headway. People had gathered 
from all parts of the neighborhood, but they were 
powerless to help. They could only stand and watch 
the flames, curling, crawling, leaping — devouring with 
207 


JOSEPHINE 


cruel greed the fine old mansion which had weathered 
the storms of a hundred years. 

It was long before Stockton recovered from the 
excitement of that night. Coming immediately after 
the evening of gayety and fun, the fire seemed all the 
more tragic; and while there was such cause for 
thankfulness in the fact that it had cost no lives, there 
was great sympathy felt for the Blakes in the loss of 
their home and all their beautiful possessions, which 
it had taken years to collect. Only the walls were left 
standing,, a dreary reminder of what had once been. 
Mrs. Blake, who was never strong, was made ill 
by the exposure and excitement, and was at a friend's 
house with Katherine in close attendance. Josephine, 
therefore, saw but little of her, and neither one of them 
spoke of the interrupted conversation which fate 
seemed to have decreed should never be finished. 

“And, after all," said Josephine to herself, “the 
photograph is burned up, and now we shall never be 
able to find out if he and Mr. Jackson are the same 
person. It couldn't possibly be, of course. How 
could Katherine know the conductor on that train?" 

It really seemed of very small importance now, 
with the fire and its disastrous results to absorb their 
minds and time. Bromfield's leg was put into a plaster 
cast, and he had the prospect before him of six weeks 
of absolute inactivity. He was the hero of the hour, 
but this was no consolation to Brom. He hated any 
sort of notoriety, and when he discovered that by his 
brave act to save a dog's life he had become the idol 
208 


JOSEPHINE 


of Stockton, he almost wished the deed undone. 
When his friends came to see him and began to talk 
about it he silenced them roughly, and his family were 
not permitted to mention it within his hearing. They 
consoled themselves by singing his praises to one 
another. It was a bitter trial to Roger and Chippy 
that they had missed the excitement altogether. 

The household now had a new member, one who 
came of his own accord and insisted upon remaining, 
in spite of Mrs. Sparks’s unqualified disapproval and 
their united efforts to send him away. It was Hanni- 
bal. He followed Brom home the night of the fire, 
established himself in his room, adopted the family 
as his own, and refused to be ousted. At first it was 
thought to be just as well, for the Blakes being scattered 
in different houses they were glad to have a place for 
Hannibal, but it was soon found that he had no in- 
tention of leaving. 

Katherine came one day to see Bromfield. It was 
two weeks after the fire, and she still looked pale and 
distressed. 

don’t seem able to get over it,” she said to 
Josephine, who met her in the hall. '^You see, I feel 
as if I had really caused the whole thing. I opened 
the window, and, of course, the wind must have blown 
the thin curtain right into the gaslight. It was awfully 
careless. I was so absorbed in the theatricals I 
thought of nothing else. Think of my forgetting 
Hannibal! I have come to take him back with me. 
We are going to Boston to-morrow. Father has taken 
209 


JOSEPHINE 


a house for the rest of the winter and he will begin to 
rebuild as soon as possible. I dread seeing Brom. 
Think of my being responsible for his suffering! That 
brave boy! Every night I see him coming down that 
strap.^^ 

“Be careful what you say to him,” admonished 
Josephine. “He is awfully queer about it. He 
doesn’t like to have it mentioned.” 

“You needn’t think I am going to pay any attention 
to that. I shall say all I want to. Aren’t you coming 
with me?” 

“ No. Georgie will show you the room I will stay 
in the hbrary until you come down.” 

Miss Blake followed Georgiana into Bromfield’s 
room, and, going to the bed, she took both his hands 
in hers and leaned over and kissed him. “You dear 
boy! I shall never forgive myself. You laid up in a 
plaster cast and I walking about on my two feet. 
You—” 

“Please, Miss Katherine, don’t.” 

“Don’t what? Kiss you?” 

“Oh no; I don’t mind that,” said Brom, with a 
laugh. “You know what I mean. Hannibal, old 
fellow, here is your mistress.” He pushed the dog 
off the bed as he spoke. 

Hannibal, who had been asleep, stretched himself. 
Then he sniffed daintily at Katherine’s skirt and 
permitted her to pat him. This formality over he 
jumped on the bed and sat up very straight, his ugly 
face turned towards Brom, his eyes fixed lovingly on him. 

210 


JOSEPHINE 


“Why, he doesn’t seem a bit glad to see me!” 
exclaimed Katherine. “He always was a queer dog, 
but I thought that at least he was fond of me.” 

“He has stuck to Brom ever since the fire,” said 
Georgie. “We can scarcely get him to go down to 
his meals or go out to walk. He goes and looks in at 
the Thayers’ sometimes. One day I met him coming 
down your road. I think he had been to see the 
ruins. Since then he hasn’t been off the place.” 

“You are good to keep him here,” said Katherine. 

“I shall miss him awfully,” said Bromfield, pulling 
the dog’s ears. 

They talked for a time, and then Katherine rose to 
go. “Come, Hannibal,” she said. Hannibal, who was 
pretending to be asleep, opened one eye, gazed at her 
for a second, and closed it with an air of determi- 
nation. 

“Why, you actually look as if you didn’t intend to 
obey me. Come!” She took hold of his collar and 
pulled him, but he made himself very limp and heavy. 
She dragged him from the bed, but he immediately 
sprang up again. This was repeated several times. 
Then she fastened a leash to his collar and tried to 
pull him to the door. He spread out his legs and 
clung to the carpet; he preferred to be strangled than 
to go. 

“What am I to do?” cried his mistress, as she 
tugged and Hannibal growled. 

“ Hannibal, go ! Go home !” ordered Bromfield. The 
dog’s tail drooped, a look of sorrow settled upon his 

IS 211 


JOSEPHINE 


countenance, upon his whole wriggling body, but he 
would not obey. 

^‘He knows you saved his life,” said Katherine. 
^‘He knows I shut him up in that room and you came 
and took him out. He will never forget it of either of 
us. I dare say he will always dislike me now. He 
never did care as much for women as for men. You 
know, Brom, he belonged to Jack Thayer, and when he 
went away he asked me to keep him, and I promised I 
would never let him go; but what am I to do? He 
would be happier to stay with you,s and I canT make 
him do anything else. Would you like to keep him?” 

“Oh, wouldn't I, though!” said Brom, eagerly. “I 
should miss the little chap awfully. I have been 
dreading giving him up. You see, it is rather slow here 
in bed sometimes, and Hannibal is such good com- 
pany.” 

“Of course he can stay,” said Katherine, heartily. 
“In fact, he has decided the matter himself. Look at 
him now. I believe that dog understands everything 
that is said.” 

It certainly seemed so, for with sprightly tail and a 
grin of contentment upon his broad face Hannibal 
again jumped upon the bed and seated himself by his 
new master. 

“Jack wouldn't mind,” said Katherine, slowly. “ He 
would want the dog to be happy.” But when she went 
away she did not feel happy herself. “ He never cared 
for me,” she said to herself. “ He is like his master — 
merely an old acquaintance.” 

212 


JOSEPHINE 


So Hannibal established himself firmly and ir- 
revocably as Bromfield’s dog, and, that matter being 
settled, he now allowed himself more freedom. For 
some strange, inexplicable reason, his second favorite 
was Mrs. Sparks. He visited the kitchen at intervals 
and sat smiling at her stern countenance. He even 
insisted on going to her room, and once in a moment 
of reckless gayety he jumped up into her lap. He did 
not stay there long, but he seemed to bear her no 
mahce because she did not receive him cordially. 
Rebuffs slid from him easily. He was one of those 
enviable persons who dechne to recognize a snubbing. 
With unerring instinct he seemed to feel that if he 
persevered her heart would be won in the end, and 
that it would be better for him to possess her affection 
than her dislike, so when he was not with Brom he 
could usually be found in the kitchen. 


XV 


GEORGIANA CROCHETS 

NE sunny afternoon in late January 
Bromfield was alone in his room. This 
was unusual, for his friends came very 
often to see him and his family were 
seldom all absent at once. To-day it 
happened otherwise. The house was 
very still, and Brom, as he listened to the silence, felt 
that he was being neglected. He had been provided 
with a heap of books, but not one of them did he find 
interesting. His aunt Alice had said that she would 
be there that afternoon. The Emlens were leaving 
for the South the following day. Why did she not 
come? Had every one forgotten him? Presently he 
heard the front door close, and then there were quick 
footsteps upon the stairs. He listened eagerly, but 
they passed his door. He had been established in 
Billy’s room, on the second floor, since his accident. 

“Who’s that?” he called out. “Won’t you come 
here, whoever you are?” 

The door was pushed open and a small figure en- 
tered. It was Georgiana. She said nothing, but 
stood and looked at him. 

214 



JOSEPHINE 


am all alone/’ said Brom. 

“Do you want anything?” 

“I tell you I am all alone.” Brom’s voice was 
decidedly cross. “Can’t you stay a minute?” 

“Why, do you want me?” exclaimed Georgiana, her 
small voice trembling with pleasure. 

“Of course I do. I want anybody,” was the some- 
what ungracious reply. 

Georgiana was oblivious to the last words and the 
tone. “I’ll go take off my things and come right 
back,” she said, importantly, and disappeared. In a 
moment she had returned. She carried a work-bag, 
which she opened as soon as she had seated herself in a 
low rocking - chair, and from which she drew some 
worsted and a crochet-needle. 

“You won’t mind if I work,” she said, putting on 
her spectacles. “That is what I came home for. I 
knew Jo was out, and I’m going to make this for her. 
It’s for her birthday, so of course I want to surprise 
her. I shall have an awful time keeping it hidden.”. 

“What is it going to be?” 

“ A tam-o’-shanter, I think. That’s what I am going 
to try for, but I may turn it into a mat. I’ve never 
made a tarn, but they look easy. All you have to do 
is to widen and widen and widen until you get it 
big enough, and then narrow and narrow and narrow 
until you get it small enough. Did you ever make 
one?” 

Bromfield laughed. He always found Georgiana’s 
old-fashioned ways very amusing, and the suggestion 
215 


JOSEPHINE 


that he might possibly have stniggled with the mys- 
teries of a crocheted tarn appealed to his sense of 
humor. 

“A tarn is one of the few things I have never cro- 
cheted,” said he. ** I should like to see how you do 
it.” 

‘^Well, when I get started Idl show you. The 
starting is very puzzling. You see, Jo usually begins 
things for me, and I canT ask her because it’s a secret. 
I wouldn’t have her know for anything, so be careful 
not to tell her.” 

“I will be careful, but there is not much danger. 
Jo doesn’t often honor me with h^r company.” 

“That is because you don’t like girls.” 

“I do hke them very much — some girls. You, for 
instance.” 

“Oh, do you?” Georgiana beamed upon him de- 
lightedly. “Then you’ve changed.” 

“Where is Jo this afternoon?” 

“Gone to see Lilian Thayer.” 

“ She is always going there. When is her birthday ?’ ’ 

“It is the 10th of February,” replied Georgiana, 
solemnly. “Just think, I’ve only got two weeks. 
I’m afraid it will have to be a mat.” 

“Oh, you’ll have time enough. You might show 
me how and I could work on it when you are not 
here.” 

“Goodie! goodie! That will be splendid. Then 
I can leave it here and Jo will never see it. What a 
surprise it will be for her! There, I think I’ve got it 
216 


JOSEPHINE 


started/^ She was silent for a few moments while she 
poked the crochet - needle in and out, passing it 
laboriously under and over the yarn. ‘‘I don't seem 
to get it right, and I do want it perfectly perfect, 
because it's for Jo." 

^‘You're pretty keen on that sister of yours, aren't 
you?" said Brom, watching her. 

‘^Of course I am. Why don't you like her?'! 

‘^Who said I didn't?" 

“Jo says so." 

“Is that the reason she doesn't come to see me 
oftener?" 

“I s'pose so. Oh, dear me, this has all gone up into 
a little cup. What are we to do? Don't you know 
anything at all about crocheting, Brom?" 

“I'm sorry to say I don't. I'm afraid my education 
has been neglected. Perhaps Mrs. Sparks could show 
you." 

“Oh, I wouldn't dare ask her. Jo told me to tread 
softly with Mrs. Sparks." 

“What on earth do you mean?" 

“I didn't know at first what she meant either, but 
she explained it to me. She said there were some 
people you could skip and dance with, like Uncle Will 
and Billy and, after the first, Roger, but with you and 
Mrs. Sparks we must tread softly. That you didn't 
like our being here, and as we hadn't much real right 
to be here we ought to bQ careful." 

“So she classes Mrs. Sparks and me together?" 

“Oh yes. I don't, 'cause I think you're very 
217 


JOSEPHINE 

nice, but you see Jo doesn’t know you as well as 
I do.” 

“Then she doesn’t think I’m nice?” 

“Oh, not exactly that,” said Georgiana, fearing 
that she had been rude. “I think she’s very fond of 
you, because she cried so the night of the fire, and she 
said it was because she had been so frightened about 
you. Oh yes, Jo’s very fond of you, but she says 
we have to tread softly when people don’t like us. 
Do you think it would be cheating if I were to ask 
Jo to start this and pretend it wasn’t for her? You 
know the beginning of a doll’s tarn would be the same. 
What do you think? Could I pretend it was for my 
doll Josie?” She laid down the work and looked 
earnestly at her cousin. “I might do it this way: I 
might say, ‘Jo, please start a tarn for me. And 
if she said, ‘Who’s it for?’ I’d say, ‘For Josie.’ That 
would be perfectly true, only it would be the other 
Josie, and then when the birthday comes I could 
explain it.” 

“I think that would be perfectly proper,”., replied 
Brom, gravely. “When Jo comes home call her in 
here and I’ll help you out.” 

“All right. Then I’ll just pull out what I’ve done, 
for it’s terrible.” 

When Josephine returned, an hour later, she was 
summoned to her cousin’s room. 

“Georgie is going to show me how to crochet,” said 
Bromfield. “We are going to make a tarn for Josie, 
and we want you to begin it, and if you’ll give 
218 


JOSEPHINE 

me a lesson in crocheting I'll be ever so much 
obliged." 

His friendly manner delighted her. For the first 
time he was speaking to her as unceremoniously as he 
did to his brothers. She laughed as she threw off 
her hat and jacket and took the work. 

Do make me a tarn," she said. I need it more than 
Josie does, for coasting and going out in snow-storms." 

Georgiana was obliged to retire behind the foot of 
the bed to hide her giggles, but Bromfield's face showed 
nothing, and he gravely took his first lesson in cro- 
cheting. 

^^Jo," said Bromfield presently, and then paused. 

^^What were you going to say?" 

want to tell you — well, I don't feel the way I 
did when you first came. I'm awfully glad you're 
here now; and I wish you'd come in to see me oftener. 
I — I — think, on the whole, it's not half bad having 
girls in the house." 

Thank you," said Josephine, demurely. 

“And I say, Jo — 

“Yes?'"' 

“I wish you wouldn't put me in the same class with 
Sparky." 

“What do you mean?" 

“Why, Georgie says you told her to tread softly with 
Mrs. Sparks and me." 

He spoke very gravely, but there was a gleam of 
amusement half hidden away in his eyes. Josephine 
answered as gravely: 


219 


JOSEPHINE 


Would you rather I jumped heavily?^’ 

^H’d much rather/’ 

^‘Very well, I will.” 

And then, in the most unexpected manner, they both 
began to laugh, and their mirth was so contagious 
that Georgie joined in it. There was a rush up the 
stairs and the three brothers came in together. 

^^What is the joke?” they asked. “Tell us!” 

“It won’t bear repeating,” said Jo. 

“But it’s a mighty good one,” said Bromfield. 

During the next two weeks Georgiana spent much 
of her time in Brom’s room. The crocheting went on 
apace, and the tarn grew perceptibly from day to day 
in spite of the frequent necessity for pulling out what 
had been done and for hiding its growth from Jo. 

“Isn’t it funny how hard it is to make things flat?” 
exclaimed Georgie, in despair, one Friday afternoon in 
February. 

“Except when you’re singing,” suggested Roger, 
who was in the choir at St. Peter’s and felt that he 
knew a great deal about music. 

“Did you ever feel flat?” asked Bromfield. 

“She must when you flatter her,” said Dr. Hale. 

“I’d fall flat with surprise if he did,” said Georgiana, 
so gravely and unexpectedly that they all laughed. 

“So you are making this wonderful bonnet for Jo’s 
birthday?” said her uncle. “I think we all ought 
to do something for her birthday. Where is she now? 
Safely out of hearing?” 

“She has gone to Boston with Harriet Hoffman/’ 
220 


JOSEPHINE 


yes, so she has. Then we can plan something.’^ 
The doctor actually had an afternoon of leisure and he 
was passing it with Bromfield. “We must have a 
cake, of course.” 

“With candles,” cried Georgiana, in her excitement 
dropping her ball of yarn, which rolled away under the 
bed. “It would need sixteen candles. And oh. 
Uncle Will!” She had fished out the ball and now 
emerged breathless from beneath the bed. 

“What wonderful idea have you got now?” 

“There ought to be something in the cake.” 

“Of course. The very thing. Currants or raisins?” 

“Oh no. Could it — could it be a ring?” 

“Girls always want rings,” said Roger. “What 
would a fellow do with a ring?” 

“Why, he could give it to one of the girls,” replied 
Georgiana. 

It always surprised her when people laughed at her 
remarks. She had no intention of amusing them, and 
now she looked solemnly from one to the other. 

“That would be fun for the girl but not for the 
fellow,” said Roger. “He would get left.” 

“Perhaps we might put in something for a boy, too,” 
said his father. 

“Of course. A collar-button would be nice,” said 
Roger, with a grin. 

“I suppose Roger is sure he’s going to get it,” ob- 
served Georgiana. “He said this morning he had 
lost his gold stud. Do you think Mrs. Sparks would 
care to make a cake for Jo?” 

221 


JOSEPHINE 


‘‘Of course she would. Why not?’^ 

“Because of her grudge.” 

“What is her grudge?” 

“I don’t know exactly. It is something she has, 
for Jo said she had it against us, and I think it must 
be rather disagreeable.” 

“I will ask her to make the cake,” said Bromfield, 
valiantly. “She has no grudge agaiust me; I’m one 
of her favorites.” 

“Oh, do,” said Dr. Hale, with a relieved air, at which 
Brom and Roger laughed uproariously. Their father’s 
awe of the house-keeper was a standing joke. 

“And we must give Jo some presents,” continued 
he. “What does she want, Georgie?” 

“Oh, everything.” 

“That is a large order,” said Brom. 

“I mean she’d like anything. But there’s one 
thing. Uncle Will, that I think would be too per- 
fect !” 

“What is it? Let’s hear it.” 

“I’ve always thought I should love one. They 
have them in books sometimes, and I read about 
one in the newspaper. An old lady and gentleman 
who lived in Somerville, who were having a golden 
wedding, whatever that is, had one given to them.” 

“Anything that would please an old lady and 
gentleman would be nice for Jo,” said Brom, gravely. 
“Speak up, my child, and tell us quickly. We can 
fancy the 10th of February is Jo’s golden wedding.” 

“It was a surprise - party !” exclaimed Georgie, 
222 


JOSEPHINE 


ecstatically. “A surprise-party! The very name is 
enough. 1 do delight in surprises.’’ 

“But does Jo?” inquired her uncle, when he could 
speak. “It seems to be a case of Roger’s collar-button 
over again.” 

“What do you mean, Uncle Will? I don’t think a 
surprise-party is at all like a collar-button. Yes, I 
think Jo would like it. Just imagine how it would 
be yourself. You think you are going to spend a quiet 
evening. (The old lady and gentleman in Somerville 
did, alone with their family.) Suddenly, without any 
warning, the house was filled with guests. They 
brought things to eat in baskets and they had ordered 
several freezers of ice-cream. It was all a complete 
surprise. Can you imagine anything more lovely?” 

“Jo must certainly have one,” said Dr. Hale, with 
preternatural gravity. “It is not in vain that the old 
lady and gentleman in Somerville have lived together 
for fifty years, for they have given us this excellent 
idea. But I think we will provide the feast. We 
will not ask our friends to attend to the ice-cream 
freezers.” 

“But you will have ice-cream?” 

“Oh yes.” 

“Then it will surely be a success. But we’ve got to 
be very, very careful Jo, doesn’t hear about it. There’s 
one person I’m afraid may tell.” 

“Who is that?” 

“I hope you won’t mind my saying so, but it’s 
Chippy.” 


223 


JOSEPHINE 


won’t tell him/’ said Dr. Hale. ‘Ht shall be a 
secret between Brom and Roger and you and me and 
Mrs. Sparks. How will that do?” 

Georgie threw aside her work and rushed at her 
uncle. 

“It’s perfect. It will be such fun to have a secret. 
Do you think it would be safe to let Chippy know we 
had one without telling him what it is? That would 
add very much to the fun.” 

“No, that would not only be unsafe but rather 
mean. A little hard on Chippy, don’t you think?” 

“I suppose so,” said Georgiana, regretfully; “but 
you see Chippy’s the kind of person you are always 
wishing you could get even with. But I won’t. 
Uncle Will, you are the nicest man in the world. I’m 
so glad we came to live with you!” 

“I am very glad you did, my dear. Now, Brom, 
my boy, if you are going to arrange matters with Mrs. 
Sparks I think you would better lose no time. The 
birthday is only a week off, and — and — you know she 
requires time. Unlike Georgie and her Somerville 
friends, she does not enjoy surprises.” 

“Georgie, suppose you skip down-stairs and tell 
the fiery lady that I want to speak to her when it is 
quite convenient,” said Brom. “ Tread softly, Georgie.” 

“Oh yes, indeed. It would spoil the whole thing 
if she wouldn’t do it. But I think she will, Brom. 
Jo says she must have a kind heart somewhere, but 
she thinks it is hidden away in her boots and so is 
hard to get at. You can crochet while I am gone.” 

224 


JOSEPHINE 


She ran off and immediately Dr. Hale rose. 

“ I have some writing to do,” said he. ‘‘ Iffl come up 
and see you again later, Brom.’' 

“ Oh, daddy laughed the boys. “That's too thin." 

“It's the truth," he called back, laughing too. 

Bromfield certainly possessed the power to penetrate 
to the heart of Mrs. Sparks, hidden in her boots 
though it was supposed to be, and she consented to 
make a birthday cake. The promise was somewhat 
ungraciously given, to be sure, but still it was a 
promise. 

“I suppose I've got to be agreeable to it," said she, 
standing at the foot of Bromfield's bed. “I'm not 
partial to Miss Josephine. She burned my grasses 
and expressed no sorrow. She has a way with her 
that means pride, but I get a kind o' comfort in 
rememberin' that pride goes before a fall. I was 
always one as would turn the other cheek, and I feel 
that in making a birthday cake for her I'm a-turnin' 
it. I'm not denyin' she has her good points. The 
worst of us has those. She brought me a mustard 
plaster when I had the pain in my chest. 'Twasn't 
made particularly well — Western fashion, I suppose. 
'Twas all the way she knew, so you couldn't blame 
her. I argued it out with her and showed her where 
the faults lay, sick abed though I was at the time. 
There's as much of a knack about mustard plasters as 
there is about an omelet. But she ain't really to 
blame, because she was brought up in the West, and 
she meant well. Yes, I'll make the cake. And if 
225 


JOSEPHINE 

I do I^d be obliged to you if you’d keep that dog out 
of the kitchen.” 

Although his name was not mentioned Hannibal 
wagged his tail and smiled at Mrs. Sparks. When 
she turned to go he followed her, deliberately and at 
a respectful distance. She made a faint effort to 
send him back, which was unsuccessful. He pursued 
her to the kitchen and reposed upon her best mat until 
dinner was ready. 


XVI 


THE MEETING IN BOSTON 



[HILE these plans were being made in 
Stockton for her amusement Josephine 
was spending the afternoon in Boston. 
Harriet Hoffman had invited her to go 
with her to the symphony rehearsal, 
this being Friday. Jo went to town 
as soon as her lessons were over. She lunched at the 
Blakes^, where Harriet met her, and afterwards they, 
with Violet Blake, walked out to Symphony Hall. 
The concert was over unusually early and the girls 
had an hour to spare before going to the train. The 
theatricals had brought them together, and the three 
were now on very friendly terms. 

^‘We might take an earlier train, suggested Jo- 
sephine. 

‘‘Oh no,’^ said Harriet. “That would be a great 
waste of opportunity. Here we are in town, so let us 
have some fun. WeJl walk along Boylston Street and 
look in the shop windows and meet all the people. 
We’ll go to Huyler’s and have an ice-cream soda. 
We’ll — let me see what time it is. Oh!” 

She stood still. The others stopped, too, and looked 
227 


JOSEPHINE 


at her. She dangled before them her watch-chain. 
‘Ht is gone/’ she said. “My watch is gone!” 

“Harriet! You must have lost it in Symphony 
Hall. We’d better go right back and ask about it.” 

“Oh, I’m not at all sure it was there. Let me 
think. I looked at it at three o’clock, so I had it then. 
It may have dropped off in the hall or after we came 
out. I think it would be much better to advertise it. 
Let us go down now to the newspaper offices on 
Washington Street and write an ‘ad.’ It will be great 
fun, and give us something important to do.” 

“But it isn’t very nice on Washington Street at this 
hour,” said Violet. “There are horrid crowds there. 
I am sure my father would not allow me.” 

“Oh, you goose!” exclaimed Harriet. “There isn’t 
a bit of harm. We know how to behave. I am sure 
no one would ever dare speak to you or Jo. To me 
they might — the flighty me — but not with you two 
pieces of propriety to protect me. Come along, Vi, and 
have some , fun.” 

“I don’t see any fun in going to newspaper offices 
and writing an advertisement.” 

“It is fun because we have never done such a thing. 
It is an adventure. I am almost glad I have lost my 
watch. I am sure to get it back, and, after all, it is not 
a very valuable one. It is only silver, and I have been 
teasing father for a gold one for ages. Perhaps he will 
give me one now. It might be a better plan not to 
try to get it back. But no, he would be sure to ask 
me if I had made every effort to find it, so you see it is 
228 


JOSEPHINE 


really my duty to do it. Come, Jo. You will have 
to go with me, for you are my guest for the afternoon. 
I have you there, my dear.” 

It was a fine February day. The ground was 
covered with snow, as had been the case all winter, and 
the streets were gay with sleighs of every description. 
The trees on Commonwealth Avenue, the Pubhc 
Garden, and the Common, coated with a fresh fall of 
snow of the night before, which had frozen, were 
sparkling in the sunshine. Boys and girls were 
skating on the pond in the Garden, while ‘others 
coasted down the hilly paths of the Common. All 
the world seemed to be in motion, moving briskly in 
the cold, bracing atmosphere. The three girls (Violet 
had been induced to remain with them) crossed the 
Common and walked down Winter Street. The narrow 
little shopping street was packed with humanity, and 
there was no relief when they turned into wider 
Washington Street. They could not walk together, and 
were constantly being separated by the surging crowds. 

^‘It is perfectly horrid down here,” said Violet. 
“I wish I hadnT come. What common-looking 
people!”. 

^^Keep your courage up and don’t be so airy,” said 
Harriet. “Here we are at the Transcript office.” 
With the aid of her friends she wrote her advertise- 
ment, and left it, and they then crossed the street to 
one or two of the other places. Having finished their 
business, they retraced their way along Washington 
Street, and in doing so they passed the railroad offices, 
229 


JOSEPHINE 


which are in a row near the Old South Church. The 
door of one of them opened quickly as they were 
directly in front of it and a young man appeared on 
the step. Then he as quickly turned back, and, closing 
the door, he vanished. The crowd pressed on, carrying 
the girls with it. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Josephine. 

Harriet and Violet turned to each other and then 
to her. 

“Jo, how did you know him? I didn’t know you 
had ever seen him,” said Harriet. “Violet, do you 
suppose he has come home?” 

“Do the Thayers know he is here, Jo?” asked Violet. 

“Whom do you mean?” asked Josephine, looking 
puzzled. 

“Oh, I thought you knew who he was! You spoke 
as if you did. That man who came out and went back 
was Jack Thayer.” 

“Jack Thayer!” repeated Josephine, in astonishment. 
“Was that Jack Thayer? Are you sure?” 

“Why, of course. Haven’t we known him all our 
lives! Who did you think it was?” 

“Some one quite different,” said Josephine. Some 
instinct told her not to go into particulars. “He 
looked like some one else. I only saw him for an 
instant, he went back so quickly. I have never met 
Jack Thayer, you know.” 

“How awfully exciting!” said Harriet. “I knew it 
would be so if we came down here. Now aren’t you 
glad you came, Violet? You will have something to 
230 


JOSEPHINE 


tell Katherine. What a state Stockton will be in, 
wondering whether he is coming out to see his family!’^ 

“Do you think we ought to say anything about it?’’ 
asked Josephine. She was very much moved herself 
by the fact that Lilian’s brother was in Boston. She 
hoped with all her heart that he was going out to 
Stockton, but it seemed unnecessary to tell people 
that they had seen him. She knew that further 
gossip about the Thayers’ private affairs would be 
most trying to Lihan. 

“Why, of course I shall tell it,” laughed Harriet. 
“Ten to one he won’t come out. Jack always was 
very determined, and it will take him a long time to 
get over all that fuss, if he ever does. For my part, I 
am very glad Mabel broke the engagement. They 
were not suited to each other at all, and Mabel is going 
to make a much better match in every way. I think 
he recognized us. I know he did, and that is why he 
turned back. Wasn’t it lucky we were passing just at 
that minute! How furious he must be at our seeing 
him!” 

“I think we ought not to say anything about it,” 
said Violet, unexpectedly. “Really, Harriet, it would 
be much better taste on your part not to speak of it.” 

“ Oh, mercy, why not ? I shall let it go as it happens. 
I sha’n’t make a pilgrimage round Stockton to inform 
the inhabitants, but if I happen to meet any one going 
out in the train to-night I shall certainly tell that 
person.” 

“As that person will probably be Billy it will be all 
231 


JOSEPHINE 


right, but please, Harriet, don’t tell any one else. 
There has been so much talk about Jack Thayer,” 
urged Violet. 

Josephine added her entreaties, and Harriet finally 
promised to tell no one but the person with whom 
she sat in the train, whoever it might be, and she and 
Violet laughed over the plan. But Josephine did not 
feel like laughing. She was revolving in her mind 
a curious thought. The man whom she had seen in 
the doorway she had thought to be Jackson the 
conductor. The photograph which she had found 
in Katherine’s desk, and of which she had had the 
brief glimpse, was hke Jackson the conductor. Kath- 
erine and Jack Thayer were old friends. Could it 
be possible — ? She broke off abruptly, even in her 
thoughts. It could not be. But again and again the 
idea returned with provoking persistence. She was 
sure that they were the same. Their friend the con- 
ductor must be Lilian’s brother. Did not that account 
for his interest in Stockton — for the note he had 
written her? Her brain whirled, the crowd grew 
thicker, she saw but a sea of faces. Involuntarily she 
slipped her arm through Violet’s and clung to her. 
Presently Violet left them, and then she and Har- 
riet took a car in the subway for the Back Bay 
station. 

When their train came into the tunnel and they 
with a number of other passengers crowded into it, 
they found that it was already full. Josephine 
scanned the seats. She knew Harriet’s sharp and 
232 


JOSEPHINE 


ready tongue, and she was really concerned lest this 
new bit of gossip should spread with all the additional 
imaginary details that a bit of gossip usually gains. 
It was a relief, therefore, when Billy rose from a 
seat. 

‘‘Here you are,^^ said he, “and here am I, ready 
to do the 'perlite. Why so distant, Harriet? Would 
you rather sit with some one else? You look bored.’’. 

“I am awfully disappointed,” said Harriet, sitting 
down. “I don’t want to sit with Jo, and she has 
made me go in by the window, so there is no chance of 
escape.” 

“What’s the matter? Have you two quarrelled?” 

“ No, but we are on the verge of it. I may change 
my seat before we get to Stockton.” 

“No, you won’t,” said Josephine, firmly. “Billy, I 
depend upon you to stay right there beside us and 
not let her out. She has got to sit by me. It is a 
good joke on her, and serves her right.” 

“Well, I mean to tell Billy,” said Harriet. “I will 
not be defrauded of telling somebody.” 

“Thank you,” drawled Billy. “The tone in which 
you say ‘somebody’ is immensely flattering. What 
is it all?” 

“ If you are going to tell it, do please lower your 
voice,” said Josephine. “And, Billy, do lean as far 
over as you can.” 

“Jack Thayer is in Boston,” said Harriet, without 
lowering her voice in the least. “We saw him, and he 
evidently didn’t wish to be seen. That looks very 
233 


JOSEPHINE 


badly, I think. I can’t imagine an honest man not 
wishing to be seen and not coming out to see his 
mother.” 

^^Look here, Harriet” — Billy spoke sternly — 
think you are making a mistake. You’re implying 
that Jack isn’t honest. You know very well he is. 
There isn’t the slightest doubt about that. As for his 
coming out to see his mother, what do you know 
about it? Very probably he is coming.” 

^^Dear me, what a sermon! Really, I think you 
ought to be a preacher. I am only sorry you happen 
to be the one for me to tell, and that I was such an 
idiot as to promise the girls I wouldn’t say anything 
about it except to the person I happened to sit with 
in the train. I sha’n’t open my lips again until we 
reach Stockton.” 

But she soon recovered from her ill -humor and 
began to chatter. 

^^She has no idea of quarrelling with Billy,” thought 
Josephine. And then she forgot them while she 
pondered over the affairs of the Thayers. 

The next day being Saturday, the boys were out the 
entire day. With good coasting and skating it was 
scarcely to be expected they would stay at home with 
Bromfield. Georgiana was invited to spend the day 
with one of her little friends, and Josephine had 
planned to see Lilian Thayer. Perhaps she could 
induce her to do some pleasant out-of-door amusement. 
She felt her very much on her mind. She longed to 
see her, yet dreaded it. Did Lilian know how near 
234 


JOSEPHINE 


her brother was ? Perhaps she had seen him, and, if so, 
would she speak of it ? 

On her way out she stopped at Bromfield^s door. 
‘^Are you all right, Brom?” she called. 

“Aren’t you coming in?” asked a weary voice. 
“Oh, you’re going out!” he added, when he saw her 
hat. His tone was full of disappointment. 

“I won’t if you would like me to sit with you,” 
said Jo. “I can go later just as well.” 

“It is so beastly dull,” burst out Bromfield. “I’m 
perfectly sick of lying here done up in this box. 
You don’t know how awful it is! Oh, what a cad I 
am! I don’t mean to make a fuss about it, but some- 
times it gets ahead of me. And the skating is so 
good!” 

“I know,” said Josephine, taking off her hat and 
coat. “ I think you are splendid, Brom. You scarcely 
ever say anything, and it must be very hard to lie there 
in a plaster cast.” 

“Oh, don’t pity me,” he exclaimed. “I hate 
pity.” 

“Well, then, I won’t,” laughed Jo, good-naturedly. 

“And you needn’t stay in. You were going some- 
where; so do go.” 

“I can go later just as well. There is something I 
really want to see again, Brom. I wonder if you 
would mind my looking at them now,’^ she continued, 
tactfully changing the subject. 

“What is that?” 

“Your collection of autographs.” 

235 


JOSEPHINE 


He glanced at her suspiciously. Was she feigning 
this interest in order to divert his mind? She really 
seemed in earnest in her desire to see it, however, so 
he allowed himself to be pleased. 

All right. The book is up in my room in my desk, 
if you donT mind going after it. I’d go myself if I 
could,” he added, with a little laugh. Presently they 
were both absorbed in the autographs. 

“Handwriting always interests me,” said Jo. “You 
have lots of nice ones. Oh, here is Mr. Thayer’s. 
What a queer scrawl! ‘ Robert Jackson Thayer,’ and — 
why Brom! Is this the son’s?” 

“Yes, Jack wrote it for me once and said it must 
go into my collection. He was going to he somebody 
some day, and then I’d be proud to have it, he said. 
What’s the matter? What do you see?” 

Josephine sat staring at the name — “R. Jackson 
Thayer, Jr.” 

“ I see how stupid I have been,” she replied. “ Brom, 
I believe I’ll tell you all about it and you can advise 
me. Just wait a minute.” 

She ran into her own room for the two notes which 
had come from the conductor, and which she kept 
carefully put away. Then she returned and told her 
story, to which Bromfield hstened with intense in- 
terest. When she described the chance encounter 
on Washington Street he gave a low whistle of sur- 
prise. They compared the two signatures, and knew 
that without a doubt R. Jackson and R. Jackson 
Thayer, Jr., were one and the same person. The note 
236 


JOSEPHINE 


which had been sent to Dr. Hale had unmistakably 
been written by some one else in order that his identity 
should not be discovered." 

They decided to tell Dr. Hale of their discovery, but 
during the following week he was so busy that he had 
not a moment for conversation with his family. When 
Josephine asked him if she could speak to him about 
something of importance he said: ^Hs it very pressing, 
Jo? Could you possibly wait until some of my bad 
cases are out of the woods? Then I can really give 
you my attention.’^ And of course she told him that 
it was of no immediate consequence. * 

“ I am arranging to have the 10th free, though,^^ he 
called back, laughing, as he stepped into his carriage. 

I am going to spend that evening with my sixteen- 
year-old niece.’’ 

It was very evident that Lilian knew nothing of her 
brother’s visit to Boston. Josephine was sure that she 
would have betrayed it by her manner even if she did 
not speak of it. Lessons went on as usual, and one 
night Jo was asked to dine at the Thayers’. It was 
the second time she had been there, and Lilian looked 
at her with surprise as she chatted to Mr. Thayer. 
She was no less astonished at her father’s cordiality, 
and she found herself talking more freely than she had 
ever done in his presence. 

What is it about Jo?” she thought. There seems 
to be something in her that shines right out from her 
and into other people. I wonder if it is because she so 
seldom thinks about herself. I spend so much time 
237 


JOSEPHINE 


wondering if people like me, or if I have done or said 
the wrong thing. I know perfectly well that the 
things I ponder about for hours are of the most trivial 
importance, and yet they seem so tremendous. Jo 
never does that, and she doesn’t seem to think of 
the effect she may have upon people one way or the 
other. Listen to her now telling papa about Seattle, 
and he seems really interested! I shouldn’t dare, 
for fear he wouldn’t care to hear it.” 

It was true. Mr. Thayer was interested, and when 
he bade Josephine good-night before going to his 
library he asked het to come again. 

“You do us both good,” he said, with a curious 
mixture of stiffness and cordiality. “My daughter 
and I are too much alike. We need something to 
leaven us.” 

Josephine seldom saw Mrs. Thayer. She had not 
been as well lately, Lilian said. 

“I don’t mean physically, but she seems more 
nervous. She worries about. Jack. I think she would 
be better if she could see him.” 

“Why don’t you tell him that?” asked Josephine. 

“Oh, I do, but he thinks I am exaggerating it to 
I make him come home.” 

“Why don’t you get Uncle Will to write to him.” 

“I have thought of that, but I am afraid papa 
would not wish i^ie to do it. He is very fond of Dr. 
Hale, and has the greatest faith in him, but at the time 
of the trouble he didn’t like what Dr. Hale said, and — 
and — I am afraid to do anything. You see,” she 
238 


JOSEPHINE 


added, sadly, ^‘1 haven^t very much courage. But 
mamma is certainly getting worse. If there were only 
some one to write to him who would have some effect! 
I wish you knew him!’^ 

Josephine bade her a hasty good-night. She felt 
like a hypocrite, remembering that she did know him. 
“But what can I do?’' she thought, as she walked 
home. And it was then that the idea came to her. 
She stood still in the path, overwhelmed with its 
audacity. “Can I? Dare I? I will consult Brom to- 
morrow. How glad I am that he knows about it, 
for I shouldn’t know what to do. If Aunt Alice were 
at home I suppose I should ask her. As she isn’t, I am 
thankful I have Brom. How different everything is! 
Two months ago he would have been the last person in 
the world I should have thought of speaking to, and 
now I really depend upon him for help.” 

The next day was the 10th of February. Josephine 
was awakened in the morning by the first of sixteen 
kisses bestowed by Georgie. 

“And I’ve got something for you. It’s down-stairs. 
All your things are going to be by your plate, and — 
and — ” Georgie stopped short and pressed both hands 
tightly over her mouth. “It’s just bursting to get out,” 
she murmured. “Jo, did you ever have a secret 
that seemed bigger than yourself? My head is 
perfectly stretched with it.” 

When they went down to the breakfast-room their 
uncle and cousins were already there, but they had 
not sat down. 


239 


JOSEPHINE 


‘^We are awaiting the queen of the day/’ said Dr. 
Hale, with great ceremony, leading her to her seat. 
Her plate was surrounded by packages, large and 
small. Georgiana watched her with consuming im- 
patience. Which would she open first? She chose 
a clumsy little bundle tied up with a bit of gilt cord, 
on which she had discovered, in Georgiana’s printhke 
writing, these words: “Jo, from Georgie.” Georgie 
could not repress a little scream of delight. Jo untied 
it, and the tightly rolled package spread itself out and 
revealed a red tam-o’-shanter fearfully and wonder- 
fully made. 

“Just what I need!” she exclaimed. “Georgie, 
did you make it?” 

“Yes, Brom and I made it together, but he’s got 
another present for you. I bought the worsted with 
my own money, and it was my idea, so this is really my 
present. We pretended it was for my doll Josie, Jo, 
when you asked about it that day you showed us how. 
We thought it was a ’ipjvable deception, because you 
see I can explain it. Do put it on! There! Doesn’t 
it look sweet?” 

She looks sweet,” said Billy, gallantly. 

“Now hurry up and open your others, Jo. But 
I just want to tell you we liad to give up the ornament 
that goes in the centre of a tarn ’cause we didn’t know 
how to make it. You can show me how and I’ll add 
it. Oh, how perfect!” 

J o had opened a box. In it was a dear little pin from 
her uncle. It was an amethyst surrounded by pearls. 

240 


JOSEPHINE 


“It belonged to your aunt Charlotte, my dear/^ he 
said, with his kind smile. “I know she would like 
you to have it.’^ 

It touched Josephine very much that he should have 
given it to her. It made her feel that she belonged 
to him. She could say very httle, but he understood 
her face. 

There was a book from Billy, and Roger and Chippy 
had united on something of their own choosing, bought 
in Stockton’s hardware shop. They watched their 
cousin with breathless interest while she opened the 
package. 

“A gun!” she exclaimed. 

“The greatest gun you ever saw,” said Chippy, 
importantly. “Just let me show you. You press 
this — out pops a pencil. You press this — out pops a 
pen. You do this — there you have a knife. And 
this — there is a gimlet. Pull the trigger — there comes 
a screw-driver. And touch this — ” A little American 
flag disclosed itself. “ Isn’t it wonderful?” 

“I should think it was. Why, boys, it must have 
cost a lot! You oughtn’t to have spent so much 
for my birthday.” 

“Oh, it wasn’t so very much,” said Chippy, with 
fine indifference, “and we thought perhaps you’d 
let us use it ourselves sometimes. Roger and I could 
take turns, as we go to different schools, you know. 
I don’t suppose you’ll care much about it after the 
first. You could take it in with you to Lilian Thayer’s 
to-day and to-morrow, say, and after that we could 
241 


JOSEPHINE 


use it. The gimlet and screw-driver wouldnT be of 
much use to a girl.’’ 

“I see,” said Josephine, laughing. “What a sensi- 
ble sort of a present to give!” 

“Really, boys, on your birthdays I hope Jo will give 
you a parasol and a fan or a doll and a work-basket,” 
said Dr. Hale. “It is quite what you deserve.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Roger. “Do you suppose she 
will? I never thought of it in that light. Chippy and 
I have been looking at that gun all winter. We 
thought it would be nice to have it in the family, 
and as we couldn’t afford to buy it for ourselves we 
got it for Jo. She can use the pen and the pencil 
part, father.” 

“To be sure,” interposed Jo. “It was a grand idea. 
Oh, see what Brom has given me! How lovely!” 

It was a book for her autographs, and was something 
which she had long wanted. There was a pretty 
silver frame from Lilian, and Mrs. Emlen had sent a 
Mexican basket from the South. 

“What perfect things!” exclaimed Josephine, looking 
around contentedly. "“What a nice place to spend a 
birthday in!” 

“And it isn’t over yet,” burst out Georgiana, and 
then clapped her hands over her mouth. Chippy 
looked at her scornfully as he crunched his toast. 

“You’ve been trying all the week to act as if you 
knew a secret. Of course I knew all along it was only 
Jo’s presents. You can’t fool me.” 

“No, it isn’t over yet,” said Dr. Hale. “I am 
242 


JOSEPHINE 


planning to be at home all the evening in honor of the 
day. Billy, you must try to be on hand — all of 
you, in fact. Study as much as you can during the 
day and we will have a game of cards or something 
to-night.” 

“I’ve got to work awfully hard for the ^ exams,’” 
said Billy, “but I’ll do my little best. As it’s the first 
girl’s birthday we’ve ever had in the house, we ought 
to do something in honor of it.” 

“Who was the first girl in the world, I wonder,” 
observed Georgiana. 

“You goosie! Eve, of course,” said Chippy. 

“She wasn’t a girl. She was a woman.” 

“When Georgie was a little child papa asked her 
who was the first man,” said Josephine. “She an- 
swered, ‘Adam.’ ‘And who was the first woman?’ 
asked papa. ‘Madam,’ said Georgie.” 

The boys thought that an excellent joke. 

“Of course I know better than that now,” re- 
marked Georgiana. “That was years and years ago, 
when I was very young.” 

“If the first woman was madam, the first girl may 
have been mademoiselle,” said Chippy, who had begun 
French that winter. 

“Oh, hark to the young gazelle!” groaned Billy, and 
Chippy hastily resumed the crunching of his toast. 

17 


XVII 


PLOTS AND PLANS 



JOSEPHINE had not time to do more 
than thank Bromfield for his present 
before going to her lessons, and it was 
not until the middle of the afternoon 
that she found an opportunity to 
speak to him alone. Georgiana could 
scarcely be induced to leave her for a moment. She 
could not understand such assiduous attentions, not 
knowing that Georgie was consumed by two fears: 
that Josephine might suspect in some way that some- 
thing very unusual was to happen that night, and 
that Chippy might succeed in extracting from her, 
Georgiana, if left alone with him, a complete revelation 
of the plans. Georgie knew only too well Chippy’s 
ability in that line, and had he supposed for a moment 
that there really was a secret there is no doubt that 
he would have made her tell it. Fortunately for 
Georgie, he did not suspect it in the least. He went 
skating in happy ignorance, and finally Georgiana 
herself departed to join her friends with their sleds. 

“Will you help me arrange my autographs in my 
new book, Brom?” asked Josephine. “I am so glad 
244 


JOSEPHINE 


to have one. I have been afraid of losing them, 
just keeping them in a box like this.” 

She drew up a table and chair to the side of his 
sofa. He was out of the plaster cast now, and for the 
last few days had moved about on that floor, with the 
aid of crutches, but he had not been down-stairs. 
The sun streamed in through the western windows; on 
one of the tables was a great bunch of carnations which 
Katherine Blake had sent to him the day before, 
and which gave a touch of brilliant color to the room, 
and a pleasant wood Are glowed on the hearth. 

‘‘You will soon be about again,” continued Jo. 
“It will really seem queer not to have you in this 
room, always to be found.” 

“Less queer than jolly,” said Bromfield. “I don’t 
believe I could stand being laid up much longer. 
I’ve missed the best winter we’ve had for years, and I 
suppose I shall be awfully behindhand in school. It 
is such a bore to have to cram to make up.” 

“Perhaps you won’t have to. You have been 
keeping up pretty well here at home, studying every 
day. Let me give the fire a poke, and then I want 
to ask your advice.” 

“About autographs? Which one to start the book 
with?” 

“No, a more important matter than that.” 

She threw a fresh log on the fire, and the sparks 
crackled and sputtered. Then she brushed up the 
hearth, straightened a picture on the mantel-piece, 
turned over a corner of the rug which was out of 
245 


JOSEPHINE 


place, pulled the window-shade down a little way so 
that the light would not shine directly in his eyes, and 
came back to her chair. 

“Funny how a girl seems to know by instinct what 
to do to improve things,’’ observed Bromfield. “I 
should never have thought of that shade if you had 
been facing the window. What is the advice you 
want ?” 

“It is about the Thayers. You know Mrs. Thayer 
is getting worse all the time, and, as I told you, Jack 
won’t come home because he thinks Lilian is ex- 
aggerating it. Now you know in that note to me 
Mr. Jackson — I still feel as if I must call him that — 
said that if ever in the future I should have anything 
to tell him he hoped that I would do it. I couldn’t 
understand what he meant when the letter came, but 
now it is all as clear as daylight. He thought, I 
suppose, that I might discover sometime who he 
reaUy is, and that there might, be something to tell him 
about his family, just as there is now. Don’t you 
think so?” 

“Very likely. It seems rather queer. I should 
think he would go by what Lilian writes him ; but Jack 
in a certain way is like all the Thayers. He is awfully 
good-natured and kind and all that, but I have heard 
father say that he has a little of their eccentricity. 
He would be just a little bit different from other 
people. Now what are you thinking of doing? You 
have some scheme. Writing to him, I suppose.” 

“Yes, writing to him. I think I ought to, don’t 
246 


JOSEPHINE 


you? Lilian was very much worried this morning 
about her mother, and she said that her father actually 
spoke of Jack and said it was a pity he would not 
come. Lilian almost got her courage up to ask him to 
send Jack some message, but she couldn't. She 
thought it might make a difference to her brother if 
her father would only seem to want him. She says 
they are both so proud, and neither will give in. It 
is a poor kind of pride, I think." 

“I think it is. They are certainly the oddest kind 
of people. If Lilian only had a little more ^go' in her 
she might have straightened things out long ago." 

‘^Well, you see, everything has been against her. 
I don't wonder she doesn't dare say much to Mr. 
Thayer, being the kind of girl she is, and he being what 
he is. He has been wonderfully nice to me.^’ 

^^And you are not afraid of him." 

‘^No, not a bit. I really believe I would just as 
lief say anything to him." 

“Then why don't you speak to him about Jack?" 

“Brom!" 

“I thought that would shake you up a bit. But, 
still, I don't see why you don't." 

“Wouldn't it be dreadfully interfering?" 

“In a way it would, and then again it wouldn't. 
You are there so much and Lilian depends upon you, 
and Mrs. Thayer is going all to pieces, and Mr. Thayer 
seems to like you and doesn't object to your courage 
with him." 

“No, I think he rather likes it." 

247 


JOSEPHINE 


^'Jack was very kind to you on the train, and he 
evidently hopes you will let him know if things are 
very wrong here. It was a queer thing for him to 
ask of you, but still he did it. Do you know what I 
should do if I were in your place 

^^What?’’ 

^H’d ask Mr. Thayer if he would send a message to 
Jack through you. I would tell him that you know 
him. You needn’t say where or when. Let him think 
he is an old friend if he wants to. Tell him you are 
going to write to him, and suggest gently and mildly 
that you think he would come home if his father would 
send him a message.” 

“But, Brom! It seems the most unheard-of thing. 
The idea of a girl of my age taking upon herself to 
run the affairs of the Thayers! Do you think I ought 
to do it without asking your father?” 

Bromfield was silent for a few minutes. Josephine 
sat with her elbows upon the table and her chin in 
her hands, looking at him. His face was strong and 
thoughtful. Young though he was, she felt that he 
was capable of wise decisions. 

“It is quite out of the question to consult father 
now,” said he, at last. “You know how it is when he 
is so rushed. It is really cruel to bring anything to 
him to decide if we can possibly do it without him. 
I can’t see what harm would come from this. Even if 
Mr. Thayer refuses to send a message you would be no 
worse off than you were before. You can write to 
Jack just the same and not mention his father, but if 
248 


JOSEPHINE 


he would say something it would help matters a lot. 
Let’s think it over until to-morrow. That will be 
time enough to write, and then we can decide.” 

We may have a chance to ask Uncle Will to-night,” 
said Jo. ‘‘He said he would try to be at home for 
my birthday.” 

Bromfield hastily changed the subject by suggesting 
that she should begin to put in her autographs. They 
were all so afraid that she would suspect something 
about the plans for the evening that it was a wonder 
that by their very caution they did not disclose them, 
but thus far such a calamity had been averted. 

After a time Georgie returned, and then the boys 
came in, and, as they had a number of exciting matters 
to discuss with Bromfield, Josephine went to her own 
room to think over this astounding suggestion. If 
any one of her own age but Brom had made it she 
would have paid no attention to it, but she had 
great confidence in his judgment. She stood by the 
window which faced the Thayers’ house and wondered 
what she would better do. It was growing dark, and 
she could see the lights in the windows. 

“Poor Mrs. Thayer!” she thought. “What a sad 
life she leads, longing for her son. And I am sorry 
for Mr. Thayer, too. I am sure he is kind under- 
neath.” Josephine had a way of believing that people 
were “kind underneath,” and therefore she usually 
found that they were. “I wonder if Brom is right, 
and if he would send a message if I were to ask him?” 

At this moment Georgiana came in with a rush. 

249 


JOSEPHINE 


‘‘Help me get out my best white dress, Jo. It is 
time to get ready for dinner.” 

“Your best white dress! My dear child, what are 
you thinking of? That is only for parties.” 

Georgiana was suddenly seized with a violent fit of 
coughing. She dived into the closet and emerged 
presently with a very red face. 

“I know it is, but Uncle Will said to fix ourselves up 
a little. He is going to put on his dress suit, and the 
boys are going to dress up, and so must we. It's 
because it is your birthday.” 

Again she hid her telltale countenance in the 
closet. 

“Dear me!” said Josephine. “I never thought of 
that. Well, as j’-ou are all doing it, I suppose I'd 
better put on my white dress.” 

“Of course!” Georgiana's air of importance was 
superb. “It is a great occasion. Uncle Will said 
so — Oh! Oh! Oh! I — shall — hust!” 

“Georgie! What an expression! Where in the 
world did you learn it?” 

“Oh, I don't know, but it's the only thing that 
expresses the way I feel. I wish you'd please hurry 
and fasten up my dress, Jo. I think ” — she clapped 
her hands over her mouth as she had done many times 
that day — “I — think — I — ^shall — explode!” she mur- 
mured, through her restraining fingers. Fortunately, 
they rendered her utterance so indistinct that Josephine 
did not understand her, and as Soon as the frock was 
fastened and a fresh bow was tied on her hair she ran 
250 


JOSEPHINE 


from the room. She soon collided with Roger, who 
was coming along the hall, also at full speed. 

“I’m afraid I’ll tell Billy and Chippy if I stay in the 
study another minute,” he whispered. 

“And I can hardly keep it from Jo,” replied 
Georgiana, breathlessly. “I do wonder if the people 
in Somerville who got that party up for the old lady 
and gentleman had as awful a time.” 

“Let’s go into Brom’s room,” suggested Roger. 
“It will be safer there.” 

Dinner passed off without incident, except that when 
it was about half over the dining-room door was 
closed, which was unusual, and there were subdued 
and strange sounds in the hall. Then the door was 
opened again and all was quiet. When dinner was 
over and they went into the library they found Brom 
upon the sofa. He was sitting up, with pillows behind 
him and an expression of supreme satisfaction upon 
his face. 

“I can tell you it’s jolly to get down here again,” 
said he. 

It was a complete surprise to every one but his 
father, and the boys gave three cheers, in which their 
cousins joined with a will. 

“How did you get down?” asked Josephine. 

“Patrick came in and helped me, and Mrs. Sparks 
directed the affair, so of course it was done successfully. 
Look at Hannibal. Doesn’t he look pleased?” 

“He certainly does. So do we all,” said Jo. “Now 
I know why we have all put on our best bibs and 
251 


JOSEPHINE 


tuckers. It isn’t because it is my birthday at all. It 
is because you were to come down-stairs.” 

Georgie buried her face in a sofa-cushion and Roger 
turned away and began to examine the titles of the 
books in one of the bookcases. His shoulders twitched 
convulsively, and he made strange sounds suggestive 
of suppressed giggling. 

^^But I have come down to-night because it is your 
birthday, so you see it is all in honor of you,” said Brom. 
^^What shall we do next to celebrate the occasion?” 

We’ll play a game, of course,” said Jo. ^‘My 
favorite seven -handed euchre. I know it is yoi^r 
favorite, too. Georgie, what is the matter? Don’t 
you feel well?” 

^‘I feel very, very well,” gasped Georgie. ^‘Only — 
I certainly — shall — explode.” 

^^You have said that about ten times to-day.” 

“I’ve felt that way ten times.” 

“Georgie,” said Jo, anxiously, “have you been 
eating too many dough-nuts?” 

They w’ho were in the secret all laughed so merrily 
at this that Jo looked from one to the other in as- 
tonishment. 

“Why, you know she has done it,” said she. 

But before anything more could be said the sound 
of the door-bell pealed through the house. 

“Dear me!” exclaimed Josephine. “I am afraid 
that is some one coming in a terrible hurry for you, 
Uncle Will. I do hope you won’t have to go out to- 
night.” 


252 


JOSEPHINE 


‘‘There’s a young lady to see you, Miss Josephine,” 
said Bridget, appearing at the door with a smiling face. 

“Ask her to walk in, Bridget,” said the doctor. 

It was Harriet Hoffman, and with her was Violet 
Blake. They shook hands with every one and then 
seated themselves and began to talk, with the manner 
of those who are merely making a call. 

“Violet is spending the night with me,” said Harriet, 
“ and we thought we would come see you, Jo, as it is 
your birthday.” 

“Katherine sent you this cup and saucer,” said 
Violet, when she had laid aside her out-door things, 
“and I have brought you another. Katherine said 
you were making a collection.” 

“How perfectly lovely!” exclaimed Josephine. “I 
don’t know which is the prettier. I am making a 
collection but only had one. Now I have three. 
Uncle Will says I can have a tea-table in the parlor. 
He says I can do exactly as I like with that room. 
Isn’t he a dear? Oh, Harriet, how sweet! What a 
darhng little dish!” 

“That is for the tea-table, too,” said Harriet. “It 
will do for the lemon.” 

“I am so much obliged to you all. I don’t see how 
you knew it was my birthday. I am sure I haven’t 
said anything about it. And how dressed up you 
are! You are both in your very best gowns. I feel 
very much flattered. There is the door-bell again. 
Uncle Will, I know it is for you this time.” 

But it was Harry Sherman and his sister Lucy. 

253 


JOSEPHINE 


They were scarcely seated ’when two or three more 
girls came, then Lilian Thayer, then two boys. Jose- 
phine grew more and more mystified. 

“What fun this is,” she said. “It is the oddest thing 
you should all have come to-night. Why — ” She 
caught sight of Georgiana’s face. Then she turned to 
her uncle. He was looking at her in much amuse- 
ment, while Billy had already discovered the plot and 
was laughing immoderately at her mystification. 

“I believe you knew they were coming!” she ex- 
claimed. 

“Of course we did,” cried Georgie. “It was all my 
idea, Jo, and Uncle Will said we could have it. It’s 
a surprise-party for you. Isn’t it splendid?” 

Before Josephine could reply more boys and girls 
came in, until about fifteen had assembled. By this 
time they had overflowed from the library to the 
parlor, and then games were suggested. After a time 
they cleared the room for a dance, the girls taking 
turns at the piano, and finally they had a Virginia reel. 
Two or three of the boys stayed with Bromfield in the 
library, -with Roger and Chippy in close attendance, 
while Georgiana, in a state of supreme happiness, 
dmded her time between the two rooms. Her satisfac- 
tion reached its height when supper was announced 
and she found that there were two kinds of ice-cream, 
but the crowning joy was the birthday cake. It was 
covered with beautiful white icing on which the name 
“Josephine” was written in pink, and upon it blazed 
sixteen candles, eight of which were white and eight pink. 

254 


JOSEPHINE 


‘‘How beautiful!’’ exclaimed Josephine. 

“Mrs. Sparks made it for you,” announced Georgie. 

“Mrs. Sparks! Did she really? I must go right 
out and thank her before I touch a thing,” said Jo. 

As she passed through the pantry, on her way to the 
kitchen, she found Mrs. Sparks. She had evidently 
been surveying through the crack of the door the 
effect of her handiwork, but she pretended to be 
busy with some plates when Josephine entered the 
large closet. 

“Mrs. Sparks,” cried the young girl, “never did 
I see anything so beautiful! How did you ever do 
it? I think you were just as kind as you could be to 
make me that lovely cake. Why, it looks as if it came 
from a confectioner’s.” 

“I wouldn’t ’a’ done it if I hadn’t known I could 
’a’ done it well,” replied the house-keeper. 

“But how nice of you to take all that trouble for 
me,” continued Jo, not heeding her forbidding manner. 
“I am afraid our being here this winter has given 
you a lot of trouble, anyhow, and I think you were very 
good to do so much.” 

“Well, as long as you appreciate it I don’t mind. 
You’ve turned out better than I expected, and that’s 
as much as I can ask, I suppose. You might ’a’ been 
the flighty kind, like that Hoffman girl. I couldn’t ’a’ 
stood that. There! They’re calling you to cut the 
cake, and I don’t need no more thankin’.” 

It was an exciting moment when the cake was cut 
and the slices distributed, for every one knew that 
255 


JOSEPHINE 


there was a ring in it. Presently a loud shout went 
up from Roger’s vicinity, which announced that he 
was the fortunate one. It was a pretty ring of chased 
gold, and he polished it up with his napkin and then 
carried it to his cousin. 

^^Here you are, Jo,” said he. Stick out your 
finger and I’ll put it on. You must have it.” 

“Why, Roger, it’s yours. I sha’n’t take it.” 

“You’ve got to. What do I want with a ring? 
And, besides, that was an awfully shabby trick we 
played on you about the gun. You can call this my 
present.” 

“But there must be some other girl you would 
rather give it to, and I have had so many presents 
to-day. Do, Roger, give it to some one else.” 

“There’s not a girl in Stockton can hold a candle to 
you,” said he, emphatically. “Brom and I both 
think so. If you don’t take it I am going to throw 
it away.” 

At this there was a loud clapping of hands. Every one 
laughed, the girls pretended to be very much offended, 
and Josephine was overcome with confusion. 

“You embarrass me dreadfully,” she said, laughing. 
“But cousins are like brothers and are very out- 
spoken. Of course I’ll take it. Thank you very 
much, Roger — and don’t worry about the gun.” 


XVIII 


A BOLD MOVE 





[HEN the evening was over and the 
guests had gone Josephine followed 
her uncle into his office. She stood 
behind him as he sat at his desk and 
put her arms around his neck. 

Dear Uncle Will/’ she said, softly, 
^4t has been one of the happiest birthdays I ever had. 
Even though father was with me all my birthdays 
before this one, they have not been quite so lovely, 
because — because our stepmother didn’t care much 
about celebrating them. We have never made much 
of days in Seattle. I wish I could do something 
great and big to show you how much I appreciate all 
you do for me.” 

“I don’t want you to do anything great and big, 
my child,” he said, holding her hands in his. ‘‘1 just 
want you to be yourself. You are doing something 
for us all the time.” 

^^Why, Uncle Will, I don’t do a thing. I get 
awfully cross and impatient sometimes, and it took 
me a long time to get used to Brom. If he hadn’t 
grown so much gentler himself and been so nice to 
257 


JOSEPHINE 


me I should have been very disagreeable, I am sure. 
And — oh, I am sure it has all been on your side — 
everything 

“It has counted for something to have a sunny- 
hearted girl in the house. Even if she does get cross 
occasionally, I know she is sweet to the core, and we 
don’t want a little piece of perfection. We like you 
all the better, my dear, because you have your faults 
hke the rest of us. Yom being here has already done 
the boys good. They are gentler and more thoughtful 
for others. Six months ago Roger would not have 
made that little speech about the ring, and Brom 
wouldn’t have been interested in a surprise-party. 
Good-night, dear. I am glad you have had a happy 
day. Many more as happy!” 

The next day Josephine came home from her lessons 
in a very thoughtful frame of mind. She found Brom- 
field in the study. No one else was at home. 

“Oh, I am glad you’ve come in,” he said, yawning. 
“These days are worse than when I was stretched on 
my back. I am to begin school next week, and father 
says I can go out to walk to-morrow, but I’m dead 
tired of myself to-day. I haven’t had anybody to 
speak to but Hannibal all the morning. What’s up? 
You look as if you hadn’t heard a word I’ve been 
saying.” 

“Oh yes, I have. I’m sorry you’ve been so lonely. 
Brom, I must do it and I’m still undecided.’! 

“Do what? The letter to Jack?” 

“Yes, but I feel as if I couldn’t speak to Mr. Thayer 
258 


JOSEPHINE 


about it. It doesn’t seem quite right to Jack. He 
might not wish me to tell his father; in fact, I know 
he wouldn’t like it. He has kept it a secret all this 
time. What right have I to tell it.” 

“That is true,” said Brom. “I never thought of 
that. Of course you oughtn’t to tell his father without 
his permission. How stupid I was not to think of 
that. But you are going to write to Jack?” 

“Yes; I am glad you agree with me about the telling. 
I am going to write to him to-day, for Mrs. Thayer 
is so miserable, and Lilian is very anxious. I thought 
I would try to write something now and let you criticise 
it.” 

But it was lunch-time before she had written more 
than the date. It was difficult to know how to begin 
it. Should she address him as Mr. Jackson or Mr. 
Thayer? She finally decided upon the latter. That 
would show him at once that she knew who he really 
was, and there would be no need to go into further 
particulars in the letter, but half the afternoon had 
slipped by before she was able to show Bromfield 
what she had written. It was as follows: 

“Dear Mr. Thayer, — You asked me in your note to let 
you know if I should ever have anything important to tell you, 
and so I am writing to you now to say that Mrs. Thayer is 
really very ill. Lilian and I are very great friends, and I study 
with her every day, so of course I know how ill your mother is. 
The only thing that will do her any good is to see you and 
have you at home. She is getting worse all the time. She 
leally is, Mr. Thayer. None of your family have the least 
i ’ea that I know you, and no one knows that I am writing to 

i8 259 


JOSEPHINE 


you except my cousin Bromfield. When we saw you in 
Boston I did not tell the girls I was with that I had ever seen 
you. I hope with all my heart that you will come home as 
soon as you receive this. 

Yours sincerely, 

‘‘Josephine Hale.” 

‘‘Do you think that will do?'’ she asked, looking over 
Brom’s shoulder, as he read it. 

“I think it is fine.” 

“I wanted dreadfully to say something about his 
father. If I could only let him know in some way that 
he has softened, but I don’t know how to do it. Would 
it do to put a postscript saying something like this, 
‘I am sure from something he has said that your 
father is very anxious for you to come ’ ?” 

“Yes, I think that would be a very good idea. It 
might make him ready to be nicer to his father than 
he would be if he thought he didn’t want him.” 

So the postscript was added and the letter despatched 
to R. Jackson that afternoon. 

Two days later Josephine, when she came in, found 
lying on the hall table a telegram addressed to herself. 
She was startled, fearing that it might contain bad 
news from Seattle, although she had received cheerful 
letters from her sisters that very morning. Tearing it 
open, she saw that it was from R. Jackson : 

“Thanks for letter. Will come immediately. Please ex- 
plain to Lilian.” 

Her excitement was so intense that she sat down 

on one of the hall chairs and read the message over and 
260 


JOSEPHINE 


over. Then she ran to find Brom, but he was out. 
No one was at home, and even had any .one else been 
there she could not have spoken of the telegram. She 
wondered who had seen it, and if she should be ques- 
tioned about it what she should reply. She decided 
to go at once to Lilian and tell her the whole story, 
and then after that she would be free to explain matters 
to her uncle. She ran up-stairs for Jackson’s note, and 
soon had reached the Thayers’. She found Lilian in 
her room. 

have got something very interesting and very 
important to tell you,” she said, with startling abrupt- 
ness. 

Lilian looked at her in silence. She felt a certain 
resentment. Josephine’s face was full of animation. 
She had come into the room with the vigor and glad- 
ness of one to whom illness and misfortune are un- 
known, and to Lilian such cheerfulness and evident 
joy of living seemed out of place and almost unfeeling. 
Jo knew that she was anxious and unhappy; how 
could she have the heart to thrust upon her friend 
her own freedom from such cares? 

I don’t feel like hearing anything,” she said, after 
a perceptible pause. ‘‘I am very sorry, but I should 
only disappoint you if you were to tell me anything 
nice about yourself or any one else. I know I am 
very selfish, but I can’t think of anything but our 
own terrible troubles.” 

For a moment Josephine ex;perienced to the full 
that blank sensation of failure and chagrin which 
261 


JOSEPHINE 


comes to us when our efforts to give happiness to 
others are not understood. She seemed to be thrown 
back upon herseif, as it were. It was not so much 
what Lilian said as her manner of saying it. Then 
she remembered that it was natural for Lilian to feel 
in this way. She was tired and worried, and the 
possibility that the “interesting and important” news 
might have any bearing upon her own affairs would 
never occur to her. Jo’s disappointment vanished as 
quickly as it came. 

“My dear,” she said, putting her hands on Lilian’s 
shoulders as they stood together in the centre of the 
room, “you will be glad to hear it. It is something 
which concerns you, and not me. Only very lately 
I have found out something perfectly wonderful. I 
know your brother, Lilian.” 

The girl stared at her. “I don’t know what you 
mean,” she said. 

“I know your brother Jack.” 

“Then why have you never told me before? Why 
have you been deceiving me?” Lilian grew pale as 
she spoke. 

“I didn’t know it before. I tell you I have only 
just found it out. You see, I didn’t know that his real 
name wasn’t Jackson. Do you remember my telling 
you about the conductor on the train, when we came 
East, who was so kind to us when my purse was stolen?” 

Lilian’s resentment was forgotten and her eyes grew 
wide with wonder. The girls still stood facing each 
other, clasping each other’s hands. 

262 

I 


JOSEPHINE 


‘^Yes,” she said, breathlessly. 

“And you remember he knew something about 
Stockton. Then I wrote to him after I got here to 
thank him, and he answered the letter. The other 
day, when I was looking at Brom’s autographs, I 
saw your brother’s name, and when I compared the 
writing of my letter with it I knew it was the same.” 
She had decided that she would not then tell Lilian that 
she had seen Jack in Boston. “I talked it over with 
Brom, and we thought it would be a good plan to write 
and tell your brother that I have discovered who he is 
and of your mother’s illness and beg him to come 
home.” 

“Yes,” said Lilian, in a dull, quiet voice. “I don’t 
seem able to take it in. And you have written to 
him?” 

“Yes, I have written.” 

“And when will you get an answer? Of course he 
won’t come!” 

“I have an answer. He telegraphed. Here it is. 
You’d better sit down, Lilian, you are trembling so.” 

They seated themselves on the sofa, and Lilian read 
the telegram. Then suddenly she buried her face in the 
sofa pillows and began to cry. 

“I can’t help it,” she sobbed. “I am so thankful 
and so relieved. And you have done it all, Jo. Jack 
is coming! Jack is coming! And it is all owing to 
you.” 

Josephine said nothing for a few minutes, for she 
thought Lilian would be better for having the relief 
263 


JOSEPHINE 


of tears. Then, after a time, she said: made a 

great mistake, Lilian. You are very good not to 
speak of it. I wasn’t a bit nice to you about your 
brother’s letter when it came. Do you remember you 
saw the writing and wanted to know whom it was from? 
I thought you were just curious about it, and it made 
me so mad I wouldn’t tell you. If I had we should 
have found out long ago. Do you remember?” 

“Of course I remember. I felt awfully hurt that 
you should have thought me just idly curious. It 
seemed as if you ought to have known it wasn’t that, 
but you hadn’t known me very long, so I suppose it 
was natural. The minute I saw the address on your 
letter I knew it was Jack’s writing, and it made me 
perfectly wild to know if it were really from him. It 
seemed impossible that you should know him, and 
yet I was certain it was his writing. I couldn’t help 
asking you.” 

“If you hadn’t asked me I suppose I should have 
told you, for the second time you did I had the letter 
with me, I remember. I was going to ask your advice 
about answering it, and then when you seemed so curi- 
ous it made me fearfully stubborn and determined not 
to tell you. I have a horrid temper, Lilian. I get so 
perfectly furious sometimes that I can’t reason things 
out. Then, afterwards, when it is all over and entirely 
too late, I see things clearly and see what mistakes I, 
make.” 

“No, this was quite natural,” said Lilian, loyally. 
“I don’t wonder you were angry with me.” 

264 


JOSEPHINE 


“It is strange that I have been so long finding out 
about your brother, for I have been on the very verge 
of it several times. I saw a photograph at Katherine 
Blake's that reminded me of Mr. Jackson. I asked 
her about it — you see, I was curious myself — and 
she didn't want to tell me. Then she changed her 
mind and was going to show me the picture, and we 
were interrupted, and then it was burned up in the 
fire, and since then there has never been a chance 
to speak of it, or else Katherine changed her mind 
again and didn't want to." 

“Let me see the letter," said Lilian. 

Together they read it again and again, and then 
they referred to the telegram. 

“I wonder when he will get here. I must tell Miss 
Eaton and ask her about preparing mamma. Would 
you mind telhng me what you wrote, Jo?" 

Josephine told her. 

“I am glad you said that about papa, for I think 
he will be thankful to have him come. But, Jo — " 
She hesitated. “Jo, I wonder if you would do one 
thing more to help me?" 

“Of course I would — a hundred." 

“Will you tell papa he is coming and explain it 
all?" 

“Lilian!" 

“I was afraid you wouldn't care to." 

“But do you think I ought to? Am I the one? 
Why don't you tell him yourself?" 

“ I am sure I should say the wrong thing; something 
265 


JOSEPHINE 


that would spoil it all. Oh, Jo, if you only would! 
Am I asking too much?^^ 

^‘No,’’ said Josephine, valiantly. you really and 
truly think it would be better for me to do it, I -will.” 

Josephine went home, and it was dusk when she 
came back to tell him. She had seen his carriage drive 
past the house, going to the station to meet him. 
Shortly afterwards she had seen it return. She knew 
that he had come home, and that if it was to be done at 
all it must be done at once. Otherwise Jack might 
arrive, for they were utterly uncertain as to the time 
of his coming. 

^‘Pll be back in a little while,^^ she said to Georgie. 
^H’m going to Lilian’s for a minute.” 

^‘Why, Jo, you’ve been there all the afternoon, and 
it’s almost dinner-time!” Georgie called after her, but 
Jo did not answer. The front door closed with a bang, 
and Georgie saw her running towards the stone house. 

She’s running as if the house would get away 
before she gets there,” said Georgie to herself. She 
did not know that Josephine was afraid that her 
courage would ^^get away” if she did not hurry. 

She rang the bell and asked for Mr. Thayer. After 
waiting for a moment in the reception-room, she was 
summoned to the library. The maid, who, like every 
one else, stood in great awe of her master, looked 
at her wonderingly as she crossed the threshold. 
Then the door was closed and Josephine stood in the 
vast, gloomy room. 

The walls were lined with books, and there was a 
266 


JOSEPHINE 


double row of shelves along one side of the room. 
In the centre of the library stood a great writing-table, 
on which was a light with a green shade. Mr. Thayer 
sat at the farther end of this table, and the greenish 
light made his pale face ghastly white. He was 
examining some type -written sheets of paper, turn- 
ing them over with a peculiar tenderness of touch. 
He did not seem to be conscious of Josephine’s pres- 
ence in the room. She went slowly forward, and he 
looked up. 

“Oh, good-evening,” he said. “You wish to speak 
to me? See this! My stenographer has finished 
copying my book. It looks very well. I am pleased 
with it.” He laughed, with the mirthless laugh of one 
who is not accustomed to humor. “ I am showing it to 
you as if you would be interested, but I am so pleased 
that it is done. I have been working on it for more 
than a year.” 

Josephine glanced at the precious pages. The 
legal phraseology conveyed nothing to her. She 
wondered if this were an auspicious time for an- 
nouncing the return of his son, but there was no other 
time. It must be now or never. 

“It looks fine,” she said, with animation. “What 
a relief it must be to you to feel that it is finished. 
Mr. Thayer ” — her heart was beating furiously and a 
deep-red color burned in her cheeks — “may I speak 
of something to you?” 

He scarcely heeded her. He was again fingering the 
pages. 


267 


JOSEPHINE 


“There is a great demand for it,” he said. “I was 
asked to write it, and I am told it will become a 
standard. What? — you wish to speak to me? Sit 
down. What about?” 

“Your son.” 

“My son!” He wheeled about in his chair and con- 
fronted her. There was no doubt of his interest now. 
“What do you know about my son?” 

“I knew him in the West. I — I wrote to him the 
other day and told him how ill Mrs. Thayer is — and — 
and — he is coming home.” 

There was perfect silence in the big room. They 
sat facing each other, the elderly man with the sombre, 
intellectual face, and the young girl, her bright hair 
catching the light from the single lamp and her face 
glowing with excitement and suspense. He fastened 
his strange, gray eyes upon her. Usually they were 
cold and looked like steel, but now they were full of 
unaccrfctomed emotion and his features worked 
nervously. The stillness was so intense that it seemed 
to Josephine that he must hear the beating of her 
heart. At last he spoke. 

“He is coming home?” 

“Yes, Mr. Thayer.” 

“When?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“How do you know he is coming?” 

“He telegraphed.” 

“Where has he been living? But wait! You 
need not answer that. If he chooses to keep his 
268 


JOSEPHINE 


whereabouts a secret from his parents they certain- 
ly will make no effort to discover them. I sup- 
pose he needs money, so he has decided to come 
home.” 

Josephine rose. She was tall and very slender, and 
her indignation seemed to add several inches to her 
height. 

^‘Mr. Thayer”— her voice shook when she began, 
but she controlled it immediately — “I think you are 
mistaken. I know very little about it all, but from 
what I have heard from every one who knew him 
I think your son must be a perfectly lovely fellow. 
He didn’t do any wrong, and if he has a temper, why 
— he isn’t to be blamed for it. He is only like — other 
people. We all have tempers more or less. He is 
certainly one of the kindest men that ever lived. I 
know that, for he helped me and was good to me when 
we were coming East. When I wrote to him to tell 
him Mrs. Thayer was so ill — you see, Mr. Thayer, I 
knew all about it because I am with Lilian so much. 
You must excuse me if you think I was interfering. 
I just couldn’t help it — I told him that — that — I 
thought you would be glad to see him, for truly I felt 
sure you would. I didn’t see how you could help it. 
I know you are his father, and of course I know that 
fathers * and mothers love their children through 
everything. Even if Jack — I mean your son — even 
if he had really done wrong, which he hadn’t, you 
would still love him underneath. And I felt perfectly 
sure that you would wish him to come for that reason, 
269 


JOSEPHINE 


and because it is the only thing that will do his mother 
good. If I made a mistake, I beg your pardon, but oh, 
Mr. Thayer, do please be nice to Jack!” 

She was gone before he could answer her. 

It was two months later. Spring was now well 
advanced, and the Stockton elms were youthful once 
more with their bright -green leaves; the bluebirds, 
the robins, and the song-sparrows had returned to 
their summer homes and were now well settled at 
house -keeping; the river was broad and blue; the 
merry little brooks were full and sparkling; crocuses 
were up, and many flowers were in bloom. All 
the world was young again, and all the world was 
green and blue and dazzling in the clear spring sun- 
shine. 

Josephine had spent an hour or two of this Saturday 
morning in the garden. She and Georgiana were 
to have a corner of it for their own, and they were full 
of plans. As she straightened herself after a prolonged 
digging she saw the Thayers’ carriage drive out of 
their place. In it was Mrs. Thayer, who waved her 
hand to Jo. Presently Lilian came in through an 
opening in the fence which the boys had made 
lately for this very purpose. Her face had changed 
perceptibly, and even her voice was different. 

“What are you going to do to-day, Jo?” she called 
out as she approached. 

“I am going on the river with Billy. He is going 
to teach me to paddle. I ought to go in now and 
270 



“‘what are you going to do to-day, jo?’” 








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wash my hands. It is almost time for him to come 
back for me. Come in with me, Lilian, while I get 
ready. Georgie, do be careful not to dig up what 
we’ve planted, in your energy.” 

“I think I’ll come in, too,” said Georgiana, throwing 
down her tools. 

Josephine looked at Lilian, who shook her head 
slightly. After the manner of older girls all the world 
over, she conveyed to Jo that she wished to say some- 
thing to her unheard by the little sister. 

‘‘You stay here, Georgie,” said Josephine. “You 
haven’t half finished.” 

“ No,” said Georgie. “ I don’t want to. And I have 
finished. You and Lilian are going to talk secrets. 
You know you are. You can’t deny it. I am coming, 
too.” 

For a moment it seemed hopeless, but the situation 
was saved by the advent of Chippy. He beckoned 
mysteriously to Georgiana, who obeyed his signal with 
the readiness of one who had had experience. When 
Chippy beckoned thus it meant something mischievous 
and therefore something nice. The children disap- 
peared in the direction of the stable and the two girls 
went into the house. 

“I have something perfectly splendid to tell you,” 
said Lilian. “No one is to know it yet, but they 
both want me to tell you. Can you guess what 
it is?” 

“That your brother is coming home to live!” 

“Not exactly, but you are near it. You are very 
271 


JOSEPHINE 


warm. No, he is not coming home, for he is doing so 
well in the railroad that even papa thinks it is better 
for him to stay there. He had been promoted, you 
know, even before he came home the time you sent for 
him, and he has been promoted since. It was all 
satisfactorily explained to them about his name, and 
they wrote papa, when they found out who he was, 
that he was one of the cleverest young men they had. 
He has a perfect genius for railroading, they say, and 
papa is so proud and delighted. It seems as if he were 
trying to make up for the wasted years. He is so 
different with me, too. And mamma is so much 
better. She is like her old self already. Oh, Jo, it is 
all owing to you.” 

“Oh no, it isn’t,” said Josephine, laughing it off, 
as she always did when Lilian said anything of this 
kind. “But tell me your news.” 

“I will throw a little more light and then see if you 
can guess. Jack came home on a flying visit yesterday. 
He came out to see mamma for an hour, but had been 
to see somebody in Boston first. Who do you think 
it was?” 

“The railroad people.” 

“Oh, Jo, it wasn’t business! It was something 
very romantic and delightful. Can’t you guess?” 

Josephine stood still. “Not — not — Katherine?” 

“Yes, Katherine! Oh, Jo, we are all so happy! 
Jack is engaged to Katherine Blake. He found out 
what she really was at the time of his trouble. They 
were always good friends, but since then he has loved 
272 


JOSEPHINE 


her. They both wanted you to know it; and they 
said I could be the one to tell you. Katherine wants 
you to come in to see her as soon as possible. IsnT 
it the most perfect thing in the world?’' 

“Yes, I think it is,” said Jo, happily. 







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